Staying Vertical
by midnightneverland
Summary: One day, Max wakes up in a hospital room to find the past two months are entirely in her head. No time-rewinding powers. No storm. No friends. Just horrifying hallucinations and the ever-persisting reminder that everything's false and she has to find the truth again. The only thing is, she doesn't know what's true anymore. Now, she has to face the aftermath or find her way back.
1. Chapter 1

Max wakes up to the trill of a machine next to her. She can feel the heaviness of something against her arm and her eyes snap open in panic. For a moment, she thinks, _this is it, I'm dead. I'm dying._ She remembers Jefferson with the needle pressed against her neck, and thinks maybe he's killed her after all. There is a wall of white as far as her eyes can see but then something shifts and she notices the heart monitor and IV pole next to her. The trail of tubes fastened to her body. The scratchy blanket laid heavily over her legs.

There's a crackle of sound outside her door, which is halfway open. Nurses and visitors pass by without a second glance. She fumbles for the call button to the side of her bed. A nurse steps in a moment later, surprise registered on her face, and a doctor follows her inside a few beats later.

"Hey, Max," he greets cautiously and he's wearing one of those smiles that pediatricians save for _those_ kids, the ones who are constantly a pin drop away from full-blown tantrum mode. He's not a pediatrician. "I'm Doctor Adams. How are you feeling?'

"Where am I?" she asks, because this seems like the more important question. An even more important one would be _why_ , but there's only room for one question in her mouth right now. Her mouth feels heavy and dry as if she hasn't used it in a very long time.

"You're in the hospital, Max. You've been here for a couple of weeks. How much do you remember?" The doctor steps closer to her, tapping a pen against the railing of her bed.

Her mind backtracks but it's hard to keep all of the timelines together. Jefferson with the needle, the tornado, Chloe being shot in the bathroom. They are all there in her head, bright and painstakingly real before, suddenly, they're not. Suddenly, it feels as if she's woken from a dream where she can't remember all of the details. She can no longer remember the color of the tile in the bathroom, when the tornado had come, when Jefferson had abducted her. She remembers Chloe dying, over and over she died, but she can't remember if she's alive in this timeline. She can't remember anything of this timeline.

"I don't know," she admits. "What happened?"

"Well." Dr. Adams leans against the wall, as if he's weighing his words before he speaks. Beside her, the nurse fiddles with the IV pole. "You had an incident at school. Quite a few incidents, actually. So your parents brought you here."

She looks towards the window, the slightly familiar skyscrapers behind the glass. Not Arcadia Bay. "Seattle?" she mutters and then, as she focuses back on the doctor, "Incidents?"

"Hallucinations. Visualizations. Paranoia. A few bouts of...aggression," he stretches this last word, as if he'd been considering something harsher. He frowns as he takes in her previous question. "Why do you think you're not in Seattle?"

"Because I was in Arcadia Bay. I went to school there. Blackwell." She narrows her eyes at him because she doesn't like the way he keeps tapping his pen, studying her.

"You weren't in Arcadia Bay, Max. You haven't left Seattle. What is Blackwell? Is that some kind of...special school?" The ridiculous pause again.

"It's a private school. I have a scholarship there." Her arms feel as if ice is rushing through her veins. This couldn't be happening. Everything this lunatic doctor was saying just sounded wrong. An elaborate joke maybe. Or she was dreaming.

"Is it a magic school? Like Hogwarts or something?" He tries out a smile, but all it does is make her feel as if she were a bomb about to explode.

"No, it's an arts and science school. Why would you ask me that?" Her voice is climbing higher, louder. She scratches at her arm and bumps against the IV tube that's taped to her wrist.

"You've been exhibiting hallucinations of time traveling. I thought perhaps the two were tied." For as loud as her voice is getting, his stays consistently calm. She can't stand it; it's nearly as bad as the machine that keeps shrieking in her ear as her heart rate patters out warnings on the screen next to her. "It's all right, Max. We're here to help. I know this might be very terrifying for you right now. But we're here to help you."

"No, I don't understand," she says, because it's the only thing she can say. "Is this some kind of joke or something? I spent two months at that school. _Two months._ I mean, I fucking saw my best friend die over and over again trying to save this fucking town, and you're telling me this isn't real? What the hell is going on?"

She's screaming now. The nurse rushes outside for backup, but the doctor stays magnificently calm, his smile frozen on his face. Here is the bomb about to explode.

 _Boom._

"Max, I'm going to need you to calm down. Remember, no one is here to hurt you. But if you can't calm down, we're going to have to sedate you. We don't want you to hurt yourself. I don't think you want that to happen. Right?" The way he says it implies that they've been down this road before. She remembers that he's said she's been here two weeks and she wonders if this hasn't been the first time she's woken up and demanded to know what was happening.

She closes her eyes and closes her mouth, but the scream is still there, building in her throat.

"Max! Oh, Max." Vanessa Caulfield bursts through the door with her husband Ryan right behind her and she throws her arms around Max with enough force to make her gasp. "Are you alright, honey? Do you know where you are?"

The doctor waves away the trio of nurses who've rushed in. _Not this time,_ it says. She wonders how many times there have been.

"I don't know what's going on," Max whispers and she closes her eyes again, wishing she could just go back to wherever she'd been before. She reaches out her hand to rewind, hoping just _maybe,_ but there is nothing but the beep of the monitor and the murmuring of the adults surrounding her. She's irrevocably stuck in this hellhole.

"—keep her here for another few days to monitor her, but if she's not improving, we're going to have to transfer her," Dr. Adams is saying and the word _transfer_ looms over everyone's heads as a giant exclamation point.

"No." Ryan shoos aside his words. "No, we're not putting her in a psychiatric hospital."

Vanessa covers Max's ears as if she's afraid the term will cause her to disintegrate.

"If that's the case," continues the doctor, "then she'll need more care than we can provide for her at this moment. We'll reexamine this concept later. Let's just see how she's doing for the moment."

Max tunes out, lets the words run together, and focuses instead on the vase of daisies sitting on a table to her right. The card is a generic _get well soon_ with a big pink heart. There is a scattering of other cards surrounding it, probably placed by her mother's bored hands while she was out, or sleeping, or forgetting. If it could be called that.

She tries again to link the timelines, to pinpoint the last thing she recalls before opening her eyes, but all she sees is Chloe's face. It brings a pang to her chest, but it doesn't tell her where or when she is.

"From your classmates," Vanessa says softly, gesturing to the cards Max had been eying. "I don't know if you remember any of them. You hadn't really gotten," she pauses and Max thinks of the doctor stretching his words just a moment ago. "Close," she finally decides. "You hadn't really gotten close with anyone before all of this."

"So, Max," Dr. Adams interrupts, but Max is already done hearing about cards and people she doesn't know about, so she only lays her head back against the pillow and lets her eyes drift towards the ceiling. "If you want out of here, then we're all going to have to work together. That means you're going to have to get used to your medication routine, therapy. We want to get to the bottom of why these episodes happened, and how we can move past them, but it's going to take time. As long as you want this, and we work together, you'll have a better chance of adjusting back to your life again. Capische?"

Max blinks and drags her gaze back to the doctor who once again is looking at her with that careful smile. And the only thing she can do is nod. "I want to sleep," she whispers and the doctor nods at her parents who nod back at her.

She wonder how many times she has gone through this moment, how many times she has woken and slept and woken again to find herself in this exact position, barricaded in a white room where the overhead light buzzes and burns into her eyes with its brightness.

She flinches and turns her head, her fingers hovering over the tubing bound and heavy over her wrist. And then she closes her eyes and forces everything out. Maybe she can make herself wake up back in her dorm room, or even her bed at home. She would gladly take either.

-

"Maximus!" A voice calls behind her and Max turns to find Warren jogging down the hallway. She startles backwards, hitting her head on her locker door and shuts it with a trembling hand.

When did she get here? She glances around the hallway, which is exactly as she left Blackwell. The same crowd of students busy themselves around her. She hears Victoria and Taylor laughing about something a few spaces behind her. Ms. Grant is chastising someone at the doorway of the science classroom. Warren leans against her locker, grinning, and she tries to match his excitement, but she's at a complete loss. "What are we grinning about?" she asks.

His smile falters for a moment before he just rolls his eyes and tries to brush off her question. When she doesn't continue, his smile diminishes again. "Come on, Max. The drive-in? Today? You didn't really forget, did you?"

"Right. I just lost track of the day, I guess. Too much homework or something," she says, scratching her arm. The skin feels real against her nails, just as real as the floor beneath her feet. "How long have I been standing here?" she mutters, more to herself than to Warren, but he shrugs and chuckles softly.

"You feeling okay, Max?" He taps her shoe with the tip of his own shoe and she simply looks down at it, trying to memorize the feel of his foot against hers. It happened. This isn't a dream.

"Walk me to class?" she asks because she needs to get out of this space and she has no idea what class she has next.

"Sure," he says and offers an elbow with exaggerated flourish. "It'd be an honor to escort you, m'lady."

"Yeah, no," she laughs and the sound startles her back a step. "This lady is in a hands-free zone right now. Or elbows-free. I don't know. I just feel kind of weird right now."

Warren's brows crinkle as he examines her but she waves aside his question before he asks it.

"I'm fine. I don't know. Maybe I didn't eat enough at breakfast or something."

"Well, whether you want it or not, take my hand so I know you're not gonna keel over to the side or something," he insists, holding his hand out.

She's about to refuse him again, but there's a glimmer as the walls start to distort. It's barely noticeable, a slight wave in the otherwise _straightness_ to it, but it's there, dizzying and disorientating. She takes his hand firmly and he pulls her carefully through the crowd, stopping only as they get to the front doors.

"Are you sure you don't want to maybe skip out on this one? Get some rest? Or see the nurse?"

"No, I'm fine," she argues and pulls him away from the doors.

He leads her to Jefferson's class and she hesitates as they reach the door. She can see Jefferson's profile behind the window and she backs up into Warren, who stumbles backwards.

"What's wrong?" he asks and he pushes her slightly towards the door.

 _Jefferson is dead. Jefferson is in jail. Jefferson isn't here. When is he here?_ She can't remember the points she'd traveled to, the when she's supposed to be in. "I can't do this," she whispers and whirls around to face Warren.

He doesn't step aside. "Max?" His gaze bores into hers and he grasps her hands tightly enough to bring a flash of pain at her wrists.

"Warren, what are you doing? You're hurting me. Come on, let go." She tries again to step around him, but he pulls her to him.

"You can't go, Max. You have to stay here. This is where the road ends." He lets go of one wrist to show two pills in his palm. One a large gel-cap. One small and circular. "Don't take the long ones. Only the small ones," he says and in one slick movement, he grasps her chin and forces her mouth open, sliding one of the pills inside.

She tries to spit it out but then his mouth is against hers, his tongue forcing hers back, forcing her to swallow, his hand grasped around her throat. She feels the pill lodge in her throat and when he pulls away and she gasps for air, the pill slides the rest of the way down.

"Let's go," he instructs and pushes her towards the door again, which is open now. Jefferson stands before her, his smile greeting her, and Warren pushes her again, forcing her to stumble forward. But as she falls into the room, the classroom is gone, wiped into blank white walls and an irritated nurse who clucks her tongue at her.

"I'm not going to force you to take them. But if you don't, I'm telling Doctor Adams. I'm not trying to hurt you, Max. I just want to help." The nurse looks expectantly at her, her hand held before her. A white paper cup and a small circular pill inside.

 _Don't take the small ones._

"No," she yells and backs against the headboard, smashing her head against the hard plastic. She looks around for Warren, Jefferson, even the hallway of lockers, but of course there is only the white walls and the ever annoying beep of the monitor attached to her.

She can still feel Warren's eyes above her, prying into her own, and her chest tightens. That was not her Warren. Those were not the eyes that had rolled in exasperation as they traded jokes. That was not his smile that twitched at his lips when she greeted him. Her wrists still ache from where he had held her but when she looks down, she sees that she's grasping her own wrists, tightly enough to leave red streaks beneath her fingers.

The nurse looks surprised at her outburst and clucks her tongue again. "What's got you so wound up, hmm? Usually, you just stare at me when it's time for your meds." She shakes the cup and the pill rattles around inside. "Nothing that won't hurt you, I promise. I've had to hand this one out several times today and no one's died or jumped out of a window."

"Did...did I go somewhere? Else?" Max stutters, then shakes her head, because even if she had time-traveled, the nurse wouldn't have been able to tell.

"Sorry. Just here all day. Dr. Adams mentioned maybe letting you walk around the floor for a bit today, but you've got to stick to the plan first." Her eyes are alight with mischief, a small bribery.

 _It wasn't real,_ she tells herself and forces her hand to reach out and accept the cup. _It wasn't real,_ she says as she swallows the pill with a sip of water next to her bed. _It wasn't real,_ she thinks as she lays her head back against the pillow and closes her eyes again. She doesn't know what real is anymore.

-

"Wakey, wakey."

Max's eyes snap open at the unfamiliar voice. It's a new nurse that stands before her now, a man with a crooked smile. "Doctor White is stopping by later but I thought you'd like to check out the therapy group before she comes. They're about to meet over in room three-seventeen."

She almost refuses but the thought of leaving this room is too tempting. Between bouncing from reality to reality, she isn't sure of when she'd actually left the room.

The IV and heart monitor are gone. She isn't sure when they'd removed them, but the nurse pushes aside the disused monitor so she can stumble out of the bed.

The nurse holds out a hand, still smiling, and Max recoils, tumbling to her feet instead. He helps her up and holds her shoulders until she stops swaying on her feet. "Need an escort?" he asks and she shakes her head frantically. "Well, too bad, because I'm going to anyway. I'd like to make sure you don't keel over to the side or something." For a moment, she feels Warren's hand tighten against her throat. She stiffens and considers bolting down the hallway.

"—because you'll love these kids. I bet you've seen one or two in your school. They all live around here. It's a great group. And Doctor White is hilarious. You'll love her," the nurse is saying, nudging her gently forward.

And the panic fades away again. She is not in a hallway back at Blackwell. Warren is not next to her. Neither is Jefferson. There is only a talkative nurse who is now joking with one of the patients walking past them, the smell of antiseptic, and the quiet chattering of passersby.

"—and here's three-seventeen here. Pretty easy to find. You can buzz one of the nurses if you need help getting back." _If you start spazzing out again,_ she hears between his words but she nods and walks into the room.

A small group sits around a disorderly circle, the chairs turned in random directions. The teenagers in them don't seem to mind though, positioning their bodies from one side to the other to talk to one another. It's as if no one wants to move the chairs.

She finds an empty one and collapses into it, eying the group around her. She doesn't really recognize anyone. They're a field of generic faces, some friendly, some more wary. The boy next to her shifts in his seat and crosses his legs, one pointed shoe tapping the air impatiently. She swears she's seen those shoes before and when she glances up towards his face, she feels the panic seize her veins again.

Sitting next to her is a very disgruntled Nathan Prescott.


	2. Chapter 2

"Nathan?" Max whispers when she catches the boy's gaze.

He looks surprised at the question and tilts his head as he takes in her face, her small frame. "Do I know you?" he asks. When she doesn't answer immediately, he turns his attention to his hands, pulling at a hangnail on his index finger.

"I...I..." She doesn't know what to say. She shouldn't know this boy who burned worlds down in a handful of other timelines. Everything about him is as it was before. The same slicked-back hair, the way he slouches into his chair. The grin that is every bit as explosive as his personality. By theory, he isn't real.

But here he sits beside her, now biting at the offending finger and glancing irritatedly her way as she continues to stutter. "What, are you stuck that way? Either spit it out or shut the fuck up." Her jaw clamps shut and he smirks, his gaze lingering on her a bit longer. "Wait, I think I saw you at school. Yeah, crazy bitch. Talking to yourself in the hallways. Walking backwards through the doorways, saying you were 'rewinding time.' Tell me, how did it feel to bash your head against the wall when you couldn't 'rewind' anymore? To feel all that blood run down your face?"

"Nathan," a stern voice scolds and they look up to see a woman standing before them, arms crossed over her thin chest. "That's quite enough. If you can't be here to be supportive, then there's the door." She gestures vaguely to the still-open door but Nathan remains in his seat, his own arms crossed over his chest.

"Fuck, we're all batshit here. It doesn't matter." He leans towards Max, jeering, "welcome to the dark side, crazy bitch."

Max blinks and shifts in her seat, pushing a few more inches of space between them. He is exactly as terrifying as she remembers him. His words jar something terrible inside her. Had she really walked backwards through the hallways trying to rewind? Bashed her head against the wall? She remembers the nosebleeds and the blinding headaches, but she can't justify having brought them on herself. She can't justify any of this.

"No one is crazy in this room. And I won't tolerate any belittling here either." The woman points at Nathan who rolls his eyes but shrugs an apology in Max's direction. "You must be Max Caulfield. Your nurse, Alex, thought you may be joining us today. So glad you could. I'm Doctor White and this is kind of our little haven. We just hang out and talk. Sometimes about what's bothering us. Sometimes about how we can overcome certain and not so certain obstacles. Sometimes we just chat about movies we've seen." Nathan grins and Dr. White waves him aside before he can even begin talking. "Except Nathan. He's lost rights to talk about movies."

"Not my fault you pricks can't take The Human Centipede." He shrugs and Dr. White waves his words aside again.

"Not when you're so keen on the details, Nathan. So, Max, why don't you start off and tell us your story." She smiles at Max and suddenly there are ten more pairs of eyes studying her.

She stiffens in her chair and clears her throat, but she has no idea of what to say. "I'm Max," she starts off and Nathan scoffs loudly besides her. "I...I don't know my story."

"She rewinds time," Nathan adds meaningfully, tapping his temple and Dr. White shoots him another warning glance.

"Yeah, I guess I do. Or did. I suppose I can't anymore." She struggles over the words, over the faces that run into one another as she tries to focus on them. "I don't know what's going on."

"It's alright, Max," Dr. White says softly. "Sometimes it takes time to figure it out. Everyone starts somewhere. Lauren, why don't you go next?" She gestures to a girl across from them, whose spiky hair seems to glitter in the harsh hospital lighting.

"Right," the girl answers and squirms in her chair. "Well, I had another episode the other night. It wasn't much. I just had the feeling that I could fly. And I fought it off for as long as I could but then, I don't know. Suddenly, I'm on the upstairs balcony and I can feel the wind against my arms and it was...magical."

Nathan squirms in his seat as well, his hand pressed firmly against his mouth. A small giggle slips through, but he clears his throat and looks away.

"And then what happened?" Dr. White asks in the same soft voice.

"I, uh, I sat down on the balcony and my mom found me. And she sat down next to me and we just...talked, I guess. Talked until the feeling went away. Sometimes that works. It did that time."

"Must be nice," Nathan mutters from beneath his palm, but he's not looking at her. He's staring at his shoes tapping against the tiled floor.

"Do you have something to add, Nathan?" Dr. White sighs and redirects her attention to him.

"I had a dream I was a fucking cheeseburger once but I didn't wake up and try to devour myself," he says wryly.

Dr. White just points to the door and Nathan clams up again.

"All right, all right. I'm sorry you didn't get to fly, Lauren." His fingers creep back up to his mouth and press firmly again.

Dr. White sighs and turns her back on him.

The rest of the hour goes by surprisingly fast. It isn't all as serious as Lauren's confession. Someone else hashes out the plot to a book he was reading, but Max had tuned out after a couple of minutes. One girl wants to know the best way to ask her friend out to a dance that weekend. Another boy complains that he can't answer the phone anymore because he keeps hearing ghosts every time he does. Nathan refuses to add anything constructive to the conversation, but there is plenty of his commentary. Max wonders when Dr. White will give up and kick him out, but she puts up with him until the hour runs out.

"Yes, freedom," he declares, jumping out of his chair. "Later, bitches." He pats Max roughly on the top of her head before he dashes out the door, Dr. White looking warily after him.

"Is he always like that?" Max asks as the rest of the group leaves in a slower fashion. But she already knows the answer.

"Yes." She sighs again. "Well, he's gotten better. He didn't used to stay for the full hour. Sometimes it'd be five minutes before I was wrestling a chair out of his hands. That's why we have a rule not to touch the chairs. It's mostly for him, but if I include everyone, he's more likely to follow it. Welcome to the dark side." She smiles and offers her a cookie from the tupperware container behind her. "Don't tell anyone. I was saving them for my lunch."

Max smiles back and accepts it, biting into it.

"I'll be by your room later and we can talk more. Get a better understanding of what might be happening to you. I'm glad you came by though. I think this could really help you," Dr. White continues, stashing the cookie container back into her bag.

"Thanks," Max says, because she doesn't know what else to say.

Dr. White smiles again and gestures for her to walk in front of her. "We meet every week, if you'd like to come back. I think Nathan would like it. It's been a while since he's had someone to banter to."

 _To, not with,_ Max notes and the thought of having to spend another hour sitting next to Nathan Prescott makes her insides twist uncomfortably.

"Uh, which way..." she begins, glancing around the hallways to find which one is hers.

"Hey, Mad Max. Need a hand?"

Max winces at the voice but it's only the nurse, Alex, who had led her to the group earlier. "Just Max is fine," she mutters.

"All right, Just Max." He beckons the way to her room. "Let's get you settled back in before Doctor Adams comes by for rounds. Where'd you get the cookie?"

Dr. White rushes by, winking at Max before she disappears around the corner.

"Uh, group," is all Max can think of and follows him back to her room, which seems much smaller than it had been an hour ago.

"Ah, so they're resorting to bribery now. Well, whatever works, I guess." And as she settles back into her bed, he gives a small wave and heads back out.

She finishes her cookie and holds out her hand, which is now marred with a glaring bruise from the IV. She tries again to rewind but, like last time, nothing happens. It feels both like yesterday and a hundred years ago that she was roaming the halls at Blackwell, that she and Chloe were picking their way through solving Rachel's murder. She sighs and settles into the covers, staring at the wall long enough for it blaze brightly before her eyes. Maybe if she can fake her way out of here, she can figure out how to get back. It's the only shot she has.

Max is flipping through the channels on the TV overhead when she hears the click of the door opening. Dr. White walks through, her heels sharp on the floor. "How are you feeling, Max?" she greets and Max wishes someone would just say hello instead of asking how she's feeling all the time.

"I'm okay," she answers and turns the TV off.

"You didn't tell me what you thought of the therapy group," Dr. White continues, pulling up a chair form the corner of the room.

"It was okay," Max says, twirling the remote in her hands. She focuses on the worn numbers on the buttons, pushing each one just to feel the pressure against her fingers. They're entirely ordinary and straightforward. Nothing changes as she presses them and she likes it that way.

Dr. White smiles, but doesn't pry. Instead, she opens a file in her lap, glancing over it before returning her attention to Max. "So tell me about your time-traveling."

"It wasn't real," she says, because this is her cue, but Dr. White just keeps smiling, rolling her fingers in a keep going motion. "I don't know what else to tell you."

Dr. White closes the folder. "Well, obviously it felt real enough to confuse you. It takes a lot to do that. Do you know what about it made it feel real?"

"Everything," she says, because there isn't one specific detail she can list. Dr. White's expression doesn't change; she just sits next to her, waiting. "It felt every bit as real as me sitting next to you. The only difference was that I could reach out my hand and rewind time when I needed to."

Dr. White nods. "Sometimes, when we're at our breaking point, it's hard to tell the difference between what's real and what's in our heads. Everything seems to be on the same wavelength."

"I could believe that." But Max doesn't know what the breaking point is. She doesn't remember being stressed anymore than usual.

"When do you think this started?"

"October," Max responds but Dr. White shakes her head.

"Max, it's August."

"No, it can't be. I was at Blackwell for two months. It was definitely October when I found Chloe and Nathan in the bathroom." She quickly clamps her mouth shut. _Shit._

"Nathan? You've met before, then?" The tapping at her chin begins again.

"I thought we did," Max mutters, shaking her head. "Not in this timeline, anyway."

"Timeline?" Dr. White frowns.

 _Shit. Shit. Shit._ "Uh, a different time."

"Time travel?"

Max doesn't answer.

"Max, you realize that this isn't a timeline? There are no alternate worlds here. You never really attended Blackwell and you definitely weren't there for two months. It's August. You've only been in school," she leafs through the folder again, "for a week before the incidents began. Scout's honor." She points towards the window. "Look outside. No autumn leaves yet. It still feels like summer."

Max doesn't tell her she could easily have rewound two months. Instead, she just nods.

"How was school going for you? Before the incidents happened?"

Max doesn't like how everyone keeps referring to her so-called hallucinations as incidents. It feels remarkably personal and cautious, as if everyone is trying to dress up the term to keep from offending her. She supposes it's better than reminding her that she dreamed up the past two months.

"I don't know. I can't remember anything about it," she admits.

"What do you remember?" Dr. White probes.

 _"Incidents,"_ Max responds and the doctor smiles.

"Fair enough," she says, leaning back in her chair. "Your file says you had a difficult time making friends. You were bullied by a few girls. And shortly after that, you started losing your sense of reality."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Max says because she can't pinpoint a time when reality ever fully strayed.

Dr. White frowns as she glances through the folder again. "Well, supposedly, it started with conversations with yourself. Your mom said you made up friends and talked with them, for both sides of the conversation. She said you were missing your old friend Chloe and often talked with her. And then there were the time-traveling events that often involved Chloe. Can you tell me how you guys fell out?"

Chloe's face is so real in her mind that it's hard for Max to grasp the idea of her being anything imaginary. "Her dad died," Max said softly. "And we moved to Seattle."

"I'm sorry to hear that. It sounds like you were close. How long did you guys stay in contact?"

"We didn't. I, uh, didn't really talk to her after that." Max lays her head in her arms.

"But you time-traveled a lot for her, didn't you? Usually, in these incidents, there's a common theme or goal. Something your mind is trying to focus on. In your time travels, was there a common goal? Something you were trying to accomplish every time you went back in time?"

She can practically see the gears turning in the doctor's head. And then it clicks. "Yeah. It usually involved saving Chloe." There's a victorious smile on the doctor's face.

"Well, I'll let you think about that. Hopefully, if things work out and you get discharged, we'll meet at my office next week and continue this conversation." She raises from the chair and returns it to its spot in the corner. "But, hey, don't be so hard on yourself. We all cope with hardships differently. Sometimes, our brains resort to more creative ways than others. It doesn't, by all means, mean you're crazy."

She recalls Nathan's words, the way he leaned into her with his mocking grin. "I didn't say I was."

"Well, you didn't say you weren't either." She leaves and Max once again feels the discomfort settling in her stomach.


	3. Chapter 3

"What do you say," Ryan pats his daughter's knee, his eyes twinkling, "we go outside for some fresh air?"

"I'm not supposed to leave the room without supervision," Max says flatly. They're watching Donnie Darko on the TV overhead, but the medication has made her drowsy and she keeps dozing off. It's made her cranky and she lets her words fall into a monotone because it's easier than yelling.

"Just for a few minutes. I may have bribed one of the nurses with your mom's banana bread." His face is alight with the tiniest of mischief and that alone brings a small smile to her face. But it's what she sees beneath it, in the way his brow tenses and his own smile that seems too forced, that makes her turn the TV off.

She bets it was the male nurse, Alex, that he bribes and she also bets that he would have let them go even without the banana bread. She doesn't tell her dad this, though.

"Sure," is what she does tell him. She's dressed for the first time since she's been here—sweatpants and an old t-shirt, but it's more than a hospital gown.

There's talk of her being discharged, since this is the longest she's stayed coherent and she hasn't had any incidents. She hasn't told anyone about the one with Warren. She won't even let herself think of it.

Ryan fishes out her shoes and hands them to her and they slip out the door easily enough. It's not exactly as if they're sneaking out, not really, and no one seems to care whether they're coming or going. But Max feels dangerous, anyway.

They head out towards a patch of flowers surrounding a bench. "Ah, yes. This is loads better, don't you think?" Ryan's grin is contagious and the smile on Max's face comes far too easily.

She sits on the bench and stretches her legs, the summer breeze warm against her skin. The air feels different here in Seattle than it does in Arcadia Bay. Sharper, somehow, fuller, like the scent of grass right after the rain. "I do miss it," she confesses.

"Hey, look at this," Ryan says as he bends down and snatches up a clover, its three leaves perfectly heart-shaped. "Not a four-leaf, but not a scratch on it either. That's pretty nifty."

Max rolls her eyes but laughs and takes the clover from him. He will probably use words like nifty till he dies. He's the reason all her quirky colloquialisms stick like glue in her mind. She spins the clover around two fingers. "Yeah, Dad, pretty nifty."

"Remember when we used to hunt for four-leaf clovers in the park? You were maybe eight or nine before you outgrew it." He sighs, the sound settling before them like a curtain. "Wow, I miss those days."

She closes her eyes as she remembers running through the tall grass that had been nearly knee-high back then. There were clovers as far as her eyes could reach. They'd never found a four-leaf one, though. "I do, too. Things were a lot easier," she sighs.

"Aren't they always?" he says, ruffling her hair.

She bats his hand away with a groan but it's hard to resist laughing.

The front doors open and a familiar boy in a black letterman jacket steps out. He leans against the wall and fishes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He glances around him as he lights up and when he catches sight of Max, he smiles thinly in her direction. "Hey, crazy." He leaves off _bitch_ at the sight of her dad and takes a drag of his cigarette instead. Ryan frowns at the nickname regardless. "You coming back to the chaos next week?"

"It's Max. And maybe," she replies, turning her head away from the smoke. "If you can restrain yourself this time."

"Nah, that'll never happen." He grins.

Ryan's phone rings and he digs it from his pocket to peer down at the caller's name. "Oh, it's your mother," he says, hesitating as he casts a quick glance at Nathan. "I'm going to go over here to take it. Give you kids some space." He waves towards the bench on the other side of the doors, but he looks dubious at the idea. "Let me know if you need me."

She nods her reassurance and he smiles weakly.

"Good ol' dad, huh?" Nathan muses as he watches Ryan walk away. He lifts his head and blows smoke in the air above him. "Seems like you got lucky in that department."

"Yeah, I guess." She eyes his jacket, the fabric a stark contrast against his pale skin. He catches her staring and his grin spreads even wider. She blushes and gestures towards his jacket. "Has that always been black?"

"What?" He looks down at his jacket then back at her, studying her. He snuffs out his cigarette on the bench and flicks it towards the trash can next to them, all without taking his eyes off her. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I just remember it being red is all," she mutters. Now she wishes she hadn't said anything at all. But she wants to slap that stupid smirk off of his face and the jacket looks so wrong on him. The words had just slipped out.

"Crazy bitch," he says, almost fondly, and shakes his head.

"What are you doing here anyway?" she asks, shoving her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. She feels a chill hit her, even in the surrounding warmth.

"Need a refill, see a doctor," he says and collapses on the bench next to her. "What are you still doing here?"

"I'm being discharged tomorrow. Maybe."

"Does that mean I get to see you stumble through the school halls backwards again?" Another grin spreads across his face.

"Shut up, Nathan. You're a real ass, you know that?" She digs her hands further in her pockets and glares at the rose bush in front of her.

He laughs, actually laughs, and the sound catches her off guard. It's full, playful, and not at all the response she was expecting. "You're all right, crazy bitch. Maybe I'll see you around sooner than later."

And he raises himself to his feet. "Enjoy your new freedom, Max." He draws out her name as if it's the punchline to the lamest joke he's heard.

Max leaves the hospital with an intimidating ten-page list of instructions. Medications to take, numbers to call for appointments, numbers to call for emergencies, names for things she's never heard of. But the words surrounding them jump out at her: _social withdrawal, emotional unresponsiveness, delusions, hallucinations_. Well, at least it wasn't all crammed under incidents.

Her parents skim through the instructions with equal parts panic and skepticism. Vanessa folds it the best she can and crams it into the bottom of her purse. Out of sight, out of mind.

The ride back to the house is surprisingly quiet and Ryan flutters from one radio station to another. Buildings speed past Max's window, both achingly familiar and unfamiliar, as if someone had rearranged them like building blocks.

"So this will be good," Vanessa says, her voice higher than usual. "Back to school, back to the swing of things."

Max forces a smile on her face which makes her mother frown. There is no swing of things, of course, at least not in the direction they want.

"Doctor White says you made a friend at the group session. Your dad says he's very..." and she trails of to find a positive description for Nathan.

"Interesting," Ryan suggests the same time Max spits out "douchebag."

"Max," Vanessa scolds, but the warning falls flat.

"Come on, guys. You can't possibly think Nathan would be a good friend. He insults everyone and doesn't care about anyone but himself."

"Hmm," Ryan mutters and Max can tell he's struggling not to agree with her.

"He's gone through a lot of the same things you have. You remember what Doctor White said about different coping mechanisms? Maybe you'd be a good influence for him," Vanessa continues and she ruffles through the papers from her purse. She flinches as she skims through them then hastily shoves them back in her bag. "Well," she adds quietly, "it'd be good to have a friend or two for you to talk to. Whoever they end up being."

"Yeah, I'll work on that," she retorts and when her mom flinches again, she adds "no, really. I'll try." And the rest of the ride falls into silence again.

Her little house seems even smaller after leaving the vastness of the hospital and she drops her one bag at the door of her bedroom. It's the same, from the eclectic posters peppering the wall to the afghan she'd knitted at summer camp one year skewed across her bed. But when she runs her hand over the stereo she hasn't touched for two months and thinks _it's only been a few weeks_ , and feels the summer breeze slipping in from the window her mom had cracked open, it's different somehow.

"Max, how about a sandwich?" Vanessa calls from downstairs. It takes a few tries for Max to get out "sure" loud enough for her to hear.

Her laptop still sits open on her desk. There's no flash drive from Warren or one of Kate's books sitting next to it. There's a half-written draft of a paper in an open notebook, but the writing is as unfamiliar to her as a new book.

She hears the faint sound of singing outside and turns towards the window. The houses in their neighborhood are jam-packed together, with fences between them to give the illusion of privacy. A girl her age sits on the back porch next door, a book in front of her and a mug to the side. She's wearing earphones and Max can't tell the song, but she can hear the girl singing along. And when Max lifts the window to hear better, the girl looks up at the movement.

Kate Marsh's startled face stares up at her, her mouth in an "o" of embarrassment. She yanks one of the earbuds out. "Sorry," she calls out. "Am I too loud? I always forget how loud I am when I have these on. I should really stop doing that." Her face is bright red and she ducks it behind her mug as she takes a drink.

"Kate?" Max asks, bewildered, and Kate's eyebrows shoot up a couple of inches higher.

"Yes?" And she tilts her head as she studies the girl above her.

"Do I...know you?" She winces at the question but Kate seems unfazed. Instead, she smiles softly, the same kind of smile Max's nurses gave her when she'd lost track of this timeline again.

"I've been your neighbor for five years," Kate says.

Max stares blankly at her.

"We go to Lincoln together," she adds.

Max continues to stare.

Kate shifts in her chair and places her earbud back in, returning to her book.

Max eyes the empty chair next to her and thinks about how easy it would be to sit next to her, to ask if that's a Bradbury book, what tea she's drinking, what their school's like. But then she sees how Kate is ramrod straight against the back of the chair, the book gripped too tightly in her hands. She hasn't turned the page yet.

She doesn't know what she's done to this Kate, but she doesn't turn to look at Max as she sighs and steps back from the window, tugging it closed.

"Max." Vanessa stands in her doorway, her eyes wide in concern. "I've been calling you for five minutes. Do you still want your sandwich?"

Max jumps and feels her stomach tighten. The thought of filling it with bread, or any food for that matter, makes it tighten even more. "Actually, I'm gonna take a nap, if that's okay." Her head is throbbing wildly.

"Sure," Vanessa says, pressing her hands against the door frame. "I'm so glad you're home, honey."

Max offers a small smile before collapsing on the bed.

"I thought I lost you." She hears her mom's soft words but when she turns to look at her, she's already headed downstairs.

The pounding at her door jars Max awake and as she slides out of her bed, she trips over her backpack. _Was that there before?_ she thinks sleepily as she kicks it aside. It's only when she reaches for the door, that she realizes it's on the other side of her room and she's no longer in her bedroom, but in her dorm room.

The knocking starts again and Max yanks open the door to find Warren leaning in the doorway. "This," he proclaims, holding up a flash drive, "has the most brilliant piece of film ever created. And it's all yours with one simple condition."

He leans forward, close enough that his legs brush against hers and Max stumbles backwards, rubbing her eyes.

Warren seems to take it as an invitation to enter, so he does. He frowns when Max neither takes the flash drive nor asks him what the condition is.

"Ugh, hang on. It's too early for this," she says instead, collapsing back on her bed. The mattress beneath her creaks and startles her a bit more awake. She whirls around, taking in the posters that are now scattered against her walls as they had been at Blackwell, Lisa leaning into the glaring sunlight from the window. Her pile of textbooks, her photography one still open next to the others. Books she hasn't seen since she'd woken in the hospital.

"Max, it's three o'clock on a Saturday."

She leans forward to look outside her window. She sees the tree out front has lost most of its autumn leaves.

"Fuck. What—" She drops her head into her hands, cutting herself off. She peers out at him through her fingers.

Warren is looking at her as if she's sprouted a second head, but he rushes on regardless. "Okay...so, Saturday Night Horror Highlights is on tonight. Five hours of nonstop terrifying classic madness. And if you don't watch it with me, I think I will die of loneliness."

"Warren," she groans into her hands. He's talking so quickly she can't even follow his line of thought. "Slow—"

"Well, not really," he interrupts. "But every time I mention the words five hours, everyone else runs in the other direction. I know you've been busy lately, but c'mon. Help a guy out?"

"Warren," she starts again and lowers her hands to see he's still holding the flash drive. "What's on the flash drive?"

He hides it behind his back and smiles. "Only if you watch the marathon with me. That's the condition."

Max hates conditions. She nearly groans again when he tosses one of her pillows at her. The smack of the fabric against her face has now fully woken her up.

"I'm back at Blackwell?" she whispers and tries to retrace her steps. She holds her hand out, wondering if she maybe had rewound in her sleep. This most certainly did not feel like a dream.

"Maybe you've been hitting the books a little too hard?" Warren asks slowly, eying the pile of books on her desk. "Maybe you need a break?" He raises his eyebrows hopefully and sits down next to her. "You okay, Mad Max?"

Her face feels as if it's been frozen in her panic. "I don't know what's going on anymore," she thinks, or says. The words don't feel as if they're in her head anymore.

Warren frowns and reaches for her hand. "Hey, should I let you go back to sleep? Do you need anything? Should I call for the nurse or something?"

His hand is warm against hers and she simultaneously wants to squeeze it and pull away. "What's on the flash drive?" she asks again because it feels like the important question for some reason.

He hesitates before holding the flash drive up again. "Are you sure? Because I can come back another time. The movie thing isn't that big of a deal."

"Yeah, I need a distraction."

"Like a marathon night distraction?" he tries again, tentatively.

That startles a laugh out of her and she pulls her hand back to smack him. "Fine, you win. A movie night does sound pretty awesome. As long as you don't devour my entire popcorn stash again. Now put it in." She points to her laptop on her desk.

"What, no foreplay?" he jokes as he raises to get it.

"What?" she stutters and his face reddens.

"Sorry. That was bad taste. Really bad. I don't know why I said that. Are you sure you're okay?"

She doesn't answer, but scoots over to let him sit next to her, pulling her other pillow into her lap and squeezing it to her chest.

The screen on her laptop turns black, white, then black again. A woman appears, her hair hanging like ropes against her back. She's naked, her body stretched so thin, she can see nearly see the outline of her skeleton. Her skin is splattered in blood and dirt. Open sores cover her feet as she drags them across the floor.

"Uh, what exactly are we watching?" Max asks, but Warren doesn't answer.

The woman turns towards the screen. Her face is swollen and tear-stained, but blank except for one gaping hole slashed open where a mouth would be. Static echoes from the speakers, then weeping. She presses her hand against the wall next to her, her nails like extended claws, and suddenly bashes her head against it. Again and again until she's a whirl of blood and movement and Max shifts back into the wall behind her, pulling the pillow tighter against her.

"Max, you're bleeding," Warren points out and she raises a hand to feel the wetness dribbling from her nose, and then gushing freely.

And then, as if his hands had always been there, his palms are pressed to either side of her head, shaking it, bashing her face against the wall behind her.

"Max, stop. You have to let go," he murmurs into her ear. He pulls his hands away. "Let it go, Max." The laptop screen shatters, the glass like confetti before it falls in front of her.

"This is where the road ends, Max," Warren's voice echoes around her. "Now stand up." She feels herself being pulled to her feet. "Now stay up."

And the world darkens around her.

When she opens her eyes, she's back in her bedroom, standing next to her bed. Her sheets are smeared in blood and her face is throbbing. She lifts a hand to feel the clotted blood on her face and rushes to her bedroom mirror. It's not bad, nothing is broken, at least, but there's a gash on her cheek and dried blood under her nose. "Fuck," she whispers and collapses to her knees. A wooden floor catches her, hard and solid beneath her legs. Real as the heartbeat pounding in her best. She doesn't know what's real anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

Max's alarm goes off twice the next morning. Once to wake her for school. And another time to remind her of her meds.

 _Don't take the small ones._

But the small ones are the ones she's prescribed. They make the world feel fuzzy and at a time when all she wants is to feel is how hard the floor is beneath her feet, it's much more difficult.

Lincoln High is the school she's supposedly been to for four years now. She doesn't remember it. The hallways are like a maze before her and even as the secretary printed out a new schedule and map for her, she still can't navigate her way around.

"Well, hello, young Max," a voice speaks up from behind her. She turns to see Samuel pushing a broom slowly across the hallway, the crowd of students stepping around him as he passes through.

His familiar face catches her off guard and Max stares at him, her mouth falling open.

"Glad to see you back here. I hope you feel better."

"Th-thanks," she manages to say and backs away. She feels herself slipping again, confusing timelines, confusing here. She lays a hand against the wall to keep her balance.

"Well, if it isn't the resident psycho," a snide voice greets her. Max looks up to see Victoria Chase in the middle of her cronies. She only recognizes Taylor and Courtney. They all stare through her with similar sneers. Victoria, though, studies her with the carefulness of a predator.

"Not now, Victoria," Max mumbles and brushes past her. But Victoria follows closely behind.

"Didn't think I'd see you back after your last stunt. I mean, you tried pretty hard to bash your brains in." Her smirk falters a minute. "It was kind of gross, actually." She sniffs and bumps into Max's shoulder as she walks past her. "If you wanted to off yourself, you could have gone a better route. Try not to brain yourself on my locker, if there's a next time. I don't think I could stand the blood."

Max bites her lip, but keeps walking. There's a challenge in Victoria's sway as she walks, and Max knows if she keeps her eyes forward, and her jaw clenched, that her words won't matter.

Her locker is 152, but she has no idea what hall that's in. She holds the map closer to her face and squints at the small print. "This way?" she whispers, stumbling as she turns left.

She crashes into someone's chest who grabs hold of her arms and spins her away from him. "Watch out there," he says gently. She looks up into Warren's startled eyes.

Max yelps and backs away, stumbling into someone else behind her.

"Sorry, did I scare you?" Warren asks, confused. "I was just looking for you. Miss Newton said you needed a tutor to help you catch up on the work you missed?"

Max's expression doesn't change. She feels as if her face has stuck that way.

"Or maybe you didn't talk to her about it yet?" he tries.

"Who?" she finally manages to ask.

"Miss Newton? The counselor?"

She wonders if he ever talks without asking a question.

He reaches for the paper in her hands and she drops it, backing up to the wall.

"Hey, whoa, sorry. I'm just…" He holds up the paper and points to her locker number. "Must have been a crazy few weeks to forget all this. Your locker's down that hall." And he points towards the hallway opposite from where she was heading. "Anyway, I'm free on Fridays and—" He reaches for her hand, which she promptly hides behind her back. He shrugs and pulls out a pen from his pocket and writes something on the paper. "Call me and we can discuss rates and stuff." He hands the paper back to her and jogs off, throwing her a small wave.

She can feel the stares as she makes her way to her locker. Pair after pair of eyes follow her as if they're waiting for her to break down again. She can feel her heartbeat stuttering in her throat. She juggles books and cycles through her classes on autopilot. Biology. Algebra. English. They have a substitute in English, who seems to have been here for a while as she easily calls on students to answer her questions on Dante's Inferno.

Victoria sits in the chair in front of her and leans to the girl next to her. "It's too bad Jefferson's not still here. He wouldn't deal with this bullshit." She gestures to the boy nearby who's been on his soapbox for at least five minutes now. The substitute seems to be debating on cutting him off.

"No, don't say that. You really want Jefferson back here after all that?" the girl whispers back.

"It was just a stupid rumor," Victoria murmurs, rolling her eyes.

"Wouldn't be a rumor if they arrested him."

Victoria sets her mouth in a firm line. "So what if he did sleep with a student?"

"Vic, come on. The girl killed herself. Be a little sympathetic, at least."

Victoria turns towards the window, sighing. She rests her chin in her hands, ignoring whatever question their substitute is asking now.

When Max shifts in her seat, the chair squeaking loudly against the tiled floor, Victoria turns around to glare at her. She circles her finger in the universal "crazy" gesture and whispers something to the girl next to her. They laugh pointedly at Max.

Max just ignores her, scribbling furiously in her notebook until the page is covered in a swirl of black ink.

Ms. Newton calls for her when she leaves History to check on her, reminding her what she needs to catch up on, and seems delighted that Warren has already told her about the tutoring plan. "He's one of our best students and your parents were pretty impressed by him."

"He met my parents?" Max asked, bewildered.

"We all had a chat while you were in the hospital." Ms. Newton smiles softly at her.

Max feels like screaming just to keep everyone from smiling at her. She's not sure what's worse, the smiles or the glares. She almost wishes she could blend in with the paint on the wall just so everyone would ignore her. Her head is starting to ache and by the end of the day, it feels as if her heart is going to burst up and out of her chest. Her palms are covered in a sheen of sweat.

She waits for her mom to pick her up and leans her forehead against the cool glass of the door. It's summer, but it shouldn't be this hot. She feels as if she might burst into flame. Someone slams the door open, banging it against her head and sending her tumbling to the ground.

"What the fuck," the offender exclaims and kneels down, "are you doing standing in front of the door?"

She glances up at Nathan in a daze. "Trying to cool down," she tries to explain. The words stick in her mouth.

He studies her slowly, then frowns. "What do they have you on?" He holds out a hand to help her up but she just stares at it. Her head feels heavy now, as if she's underwater and someone is pushing her further down.

"What?" she asks, holding her head.

He sighs and crouches down next to her. "Your meds, crazy bitch. What are you taking?"

"I don't know. I can't remember."

Nathan says something else but the words don't seem to make sense. She feels her head grow heavier and droop and then it's as if her entire body falls apart. She's vaguely aware of Nathan's arms around her as she topples to the side, and then there's darkness.

She swims in a film of pink and gray that sticks to her arms and legs. She tries to move faster but the film grows thicker, murkier, and it invades her mouth, her nose, her ears.

 _Don't take the small ones_ , Warren's voice tells her and then she's thrown back into the darkness.

"—feeling?"

Max blinks at the bright light being shone into her eyes. "What happened?" she croaks. The light moves away and a doctor frowns down at her.

"You had a small seizure at school. Do you remember anything before that? Did you feel sick or dizzy before you passed out?"

"Yeah, I felt pretty crappy the whole day. Hot, sweaty, dizzy."

"Hmm, I'm going to consult with Doctor Adams, but we'll probably switch your medication. It's pretty rare that this happens, but it does sometimes. If you start to feel sick like this again, don't try to stick it out. Let the nurse at school know or call your doctor. Lucky you had a friend with you who knew the drill."

Max feels her cheeks redden at the thought of Nathan witnessing the entire thing. Now he has more ammo to taunt her with. She's not going to survive the school year at this rate.

"How are you feeling now?" The doctor checks her pulse again.

"Like I got hit by a truck," she replies and when his eyebrows raise in concern, she rushes to add, "but okay. It's okay."

A light smile crosses the doctor's face as he pulls out his notepad and jots something down. "Don't worry, kid. It will be."

"I'm so sorry," Vanessa says for the fifth time since she and Max have left the hospital.

"Mom, please. It's all right," Max mumbles with her face pressed against the passenger window.

"Your first day back and you had to go through that. God, I just wish..." She blows a strand of hair away from her face. "Well, I hope the rest of your day was better."

 _I can't do it_ , Max wants to say, but her mom smiles weakly at her, and the words catch in her throat. "It was okay," she whispers. She could build her entire world around _okay_. And just like her hallucinations and when she told her mom that she'd smashed her face while falling down the stairs, she keeps them all locked up and quiet in her head.

"Good. See, things are looking up. They'll get better. I promise."

"Yeah," Max says softly and presses her face against the window again. "I bet they will."

It's not small pills, but long and oval shaped ones that she's prescribed. She almost laughs when she pops open the bottle to examine them, but then she remembers that horrible creature on her laptop and her head smashed against the wall and the sound dies before it even reaches her mouth.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to push it back. "Hey, Miss Newton said you guys wanted me to have a tutor," she says instead. She tries to keep her voice even.

"We thought it'd make the transition easier. I thought jumping back into school after a few weeks off would be pretty daunting with the school work."

"Yeah, well, Warren told me he'd help out. He gave me his number to call so we can figure out the rate and stuff."

"Oh?" Vanessa looks confused for a moment before an amused smile crosses her face. "We already decided on the rate."

"Then why—"

"What do you think?" she asks Max smugly and Max's face grows beet red.

"I guess some things don't change," she mutters to herself.

Max is buried elbows deep in homework when she pulls her phone out. She debates on calling Warren, just for the sake of a familiar voice, and for one insane moment, she wishes she had Nathan's number. There is one number she wishes she had more than anyone's though. Chloe's number is not in her phone. She thinks it might be in her journal, but she hasn't seen it since coming home from the hospital. She rifles through the papers on her desk and on her nightstand before yelling down, "Mom, have you seen my journal?" There's no answer but Vanessa comes upstairs a moment later wearing a confused expression.

"What journal?" she asks.

"Mom, my journal. It's the only one I have. I thought..." She trails off, seeing the worry that's crossed her mom's face now.

"The only journal I can think of is the one you had when you were thirteen. You threw it out after we moved."

"What?" She stops shuffling through the papers on her nightstand. "What about my polaroids?"

Vanessa taps a finger on her chin. "You mean the instant camera you had? You tossed that out, too. Max, what's going on? What's got you stuck on reminiscing all these things?"

"No," Max mutters and her fingers grow numb. No journal. No camera. She casts a quick glance at the mirror because she doesn't even recognize this Max. How did she get to this place? "I just...I wanted to call Chloe."

"Oh, Max," her mother steps into the room and scoops her into a hug. "Are you sure you want to go down that path now?"

Max nods against her mother's chest and pulls her closer to her. The smell of lavender and dish soap hits her so strongly that she nearly stumbles backwards. It's the realist thing she's felt since waking up in the hospital.

"I think I have her number written down in the address book downstairs. Let me check."

When Max types the number into her phone, she runs through all the words she wants to say, all the apologies she can think of, but the voice that immediately answers is not Chloe. It's the automated "the number you've dialed is no longer available," and she throws the phone down loudly on her desk.

"How do I get back?" she whispers to the mirror. Her reflection glares back her just as silently, just as confused.


	5. Chapter 5

"Did you get a hold of Chloe?" Vanessa asks on the ride the school. Max glances past her reflection in the passenger window, the sidewalk cracks that line her face as they drive past.

"No," she finally sighs, though she has tried a dozen times in the off chance that she'd pressed a wrong number. She was greeted with the same automated voice each time.

"Well, it has been years," her mother says, cushioning the edge of her voice with a smile. As soon as Max had uttered Chloe's name, there'd been a shift in the way her parents smile at her, question her, as if it was the first day from the hospital. They keep their distance even as they embrace her too lightly, too long. "You could try writing her a letter, like you girls used to. If she's moved, maybe it'll get forwarded to her."

"Maybe," Max agrees, but she'd always been horrible at writing letters. She'd send half-page responses months after the fact, rushed updates that sounded more like a homework assignment than a letter. Birthday cards got sent too late. Presents were never sent at all.

She thinks that it won't change anything, whether it's her own letter or Chloe's that she'll find in her mailbox. It won't change the bottle of pills on her nightstand. It won't change the stares that follow her through the school hallways. It won't change the image of a mahogany coffin being lowered into the ground, no matter how many times she's tried to blink it away.

But if she can't slip back into her timeline, if she has to settle into this world instead of pass through it like smoke, it could change everything.

When she gets home, she writes a letter, stammering after each period. _Is this enough? Is it too much?_ She starts with the facts, ripping the proverbial bandage off in that yes, it's been years, and yes, she's an asshole for not writing sooner. She writes of the time they'd waded in the creek behind her house, building tiny houses made from rocks. _But who is it for?_ Chloe had asked. So they'd spun tales of creatures like walking fish, parading about their houses that looked like a pile of rocks but inside were tiny mansions where waterfalls flowed upon the furniture and everything smelled like rain.

There is no creek behind her house in Seattle, only a crooked fence squaring off a section of backyard only big enough that you could run tight circles in. There are no rocks, no fish, and even when it rains it only smells like damp leaves and rotting bark. Nothing is magical.

So now she has the facts laying across her letter but she doesn't know what to fill in between their lines. Timelines and powers feel like too much of a mouthful to sort out from the pen in her hand. They're something that can only be said with a table and food between them.

She sends the letter, then another the next day, and another, but once they're whisked away from her mailbox, there's nothing left. Nothing comes back to her either. She's not sure whether to take that as good news or bad.

The maze gets easier to navigate as the days pass. Max finds herself turning into the right hallways without getting lost. Sometimes without even having to check the classroom numbers. But everything still feels out of sync, like she's stepped into someone else's shoes, someone else's life, and all her words are the wrong lines.

When she finds herself standing in front of the school doors one morning, she can't bring herself to go in. The glass doors will always be the wrong ones. She spies Nathan smoking off to the side of the building and heads towards him instead, glad for the distraction. "You shouldn't smoke on the school grounds," she scolds and he raises his eyebrow in response. "Aren't you afraid you'll get caught? You got enough shit on your record, I bet."

"What are you, the honorary campus security? Fuck off, crazy bitch."

"I'm just trying to help." She frowns.

"Nobody asked for your help." He flicks the ash from his cigarette as he studies her.

"Nobody asked for yours either."

A smile works at the edge of his mouth. "Touché." He takes another drag from his cigarette before speaking. "No one gives a shit. After Tennington's car last semester, smoking is, like, no big deal."

She shakes her head, not catching the reference.

He scowls, as if he's offended by her memory lapse. "I nearly blew it up. It was one of the greatest moments of my life. Would have been better if the fucker had actually gone up, but the light show was fucking fantastic anyway."

"That sounds pretty ridiculous." And it does. It seems just like Nathan to show off as recklessly as he can manage and then brag about it months afterwards. But she can almost see the explosion, the firecrackers snapping and crackling as they set off, and she can feel his excitement in the same sputtering bursts.

"You got a reason for being here besides lecturing me?"

"I actually just wanted to thank you for helping me the other day," she mumbles.

He scoffs again. "Yeah, well, right place, right time. It's not like I saved your life or something."

She tries to imagine herself writhing in his arms, her eyes rolled back, her mind blank, and hurriedly pushes the thought from her head. It's not a place she ever wants to imagine again. "I don't know," she responds, busying herself with the cracks in the brick wall behind them. She tries to make her voice follow the cracks. "I was pretty out of it. And if you hadn't been there..."

He rolls his eyes and tosses his cigarette butt into the trash can next to him. His hand is unsteady. "Yeah, well, you're fine now. So, uh, thanks for your unwavering gratitude or whatever, but I don't want it."

"Has it happened to you?" she asks.

"I thought we were done with the pestering."

"I just want to know." She scuffs the toe of her shoe against the dirt pile next to her.

"Not your business." He jerks his head towards the doodle she'd made in the dirt. "What the fuck's that?"

"Huh?" She looks down to see she's made a spiral on the ground and quickly kicks the design away. "Nothing. Just messing around."

"Yeah? Doesn't look like nothing. Why are you blushing like that?"

She feels her cheeks grow warm at his words, even warmer now that he's pointed it out. She pulls at the side of her hair, as if it'll hide anything. She really wishes she could wipe the smirk off of his face. "Because you ask too many questions," she snaps.

"Oh, that's rich. Are you high or something? Tell them to switch your meds again because this one is fucking with your sense of reason."

"Shut up." She scowls, kicking up a cloud of dust.

He's still grinning down at her. "Feel free to leave any time."

"I'm sorry I wasted your precious time, then," she mutters.

"Oh, no. I always find you entertaining. Your show was probably the most interesting thing these fuckheads have seen since mine."

She frowns and leans against the wall.

He follows her with his gaze, staying silent for a few beats. "You don't remember, do you?" he finally asks, the humor stripped from his voice.

She slowly shakes her head _. The last I remember is being at my friend Chloe's funeral and I don't even know…_ Her breath lets out before the words do. She won't tell him that, though. She swallows, rearranges them, and tries again. "I don't remember anything."

"Oh, man." He laughs grimly. "All that head bashing must have fucked you up." She glares at him but he continues, unfazed. "You tried to jump off the roof of the fucking school." He holds his arms out, flapping them like wings.

Max feels the color drain from her face and her knees give out. An image of a rooftop flickers through her mind, the black surface yawning before her for one moment before smashing her back to reality.

 _Kate, no._

Nathan catches her before she hits the ground and his grin vanishes. "Hey, snap the fuck out of it. I'm not your fucking shrink or something, okay? Get up and get over it." He leans her back against the wall.

She stares at him, at the tight frown that is the most serious she's ever seen him. His eyes bore holes through hers and it makes her want to squirm and run away. She tries to focus instead on the blades of grass at her ankles, the bricks of the wall scratching at her back.

Then, he grabs hold of the waistband to her pants and slips his hand into her side pocket. She jumps, hitting her head against the wall, before she can fully register what he's doing. Just as the action clicks in her head, as she's about to push him away, he pulls her phone out and types something. He hands it back to her as if it's nothing out of the ordinary. "I'm not your fucking shrink, but if you feel like blowing up cars, let me know. I might not be able to talk you out of it, but it could be fun." His smile grows wider. "Come to group next week. It actually wasn't boring with you there."

She rubs the back of her head and for a moment, she sees Warren's hands pressed against her face before they vanish and Nathan is staring her down, waiting for her answer. Her mind is still reeling from the unabashed way he grabbed her phone. She crosses her arms over herself for the added barrier. "I think I will," she says and then he grins, a skeleton's smile.

"Nah, you will. See you then."

She stands against the wall long after he's left, not realizing until after her leg has grown tired that she's drawn spirals all around her.

She's still thinking of Nathan's grin as she weaves her way between classes. There's something slightly freeing about the way it cracks the otherwise serious notes of his face and she wishes she could feel the movement fall on her own lips so easily.

"Hey," someone calls behind her and Max turns to see Kate fall into step with her. "You dropped your Dante book back in class," she says, handing the book over with a small smile.

"Oh. I didn't know it was missing. Thanks," Max says, returning the smile. It's nothing like Kate's smile, which is guarded at the corners, forced. It's nothing like Nathan's. "I'm, uh, sorry if I startled you the other day from the window. It's been...hard...getting back to things."

Kate bites her lip but nods. "I should be the one apologizing. I know you didn't mean anything by it. I just..." she trails off, dodging a boy walking too closely past her. "Would you like to stop by my house after school today? For tea? Just to chat maybe or keep each other company?"

"I'd like that," Max replies and now Kate's smile is a little more real.

"I hope things work out better for you now," she says with a small wave.

"People keep saying that," Max mutters.

It feels strange to sit on Kate Marsh's back porch, sipping peppermint tea. Kate sits with her hands folded in front of her, fidgeting with her fingers as her tea sits untouched. "How are you feeling?" she finally asks and Max sets her mug down, but it takes her a few tries to get it away from the edge. The new medication doesn't make her brain feel as clogged but it makes her limbs feel as if she's a marionette with her strings cut. She fumbles and trips and she's all too aware of the movement of her tongue in her mouth, as if it doesn't quite fit.

"I don't know. It feels weird to be back here," she replies. She wants to tell her about the Kate in the other timeline, the one she guesses is in her mind, and the tea dates they'd had before. Chatting over books, Kate adoring over Alice. But the Kate in front of her has a steeliness that she doesn't remember. This Kate didn't get drugged by Nathan, abducted and used by Jefferson. But this Kate is still slightly off, like the reflection of a smudged mirror.

"I can imagine." Kate nods and takes a sip of her tea, staring out into the yard behind them. "I bet it's kind of lonely, too."

 _You made up friends and talked with them, for both sides of the conversation._

"You get used to it," Max replies.

Kates smiles thinly. "Well, you're always welcome to drop by, if you'd like. Even just for a cup of tea."

"Are you sure?" Max hesitates and twirls her mug around. It nearly crashes off the table.

"I know a few things about loneliness. I mean, don't we all?" She toys with her own mug.

In the glare of the afternoon sun, Max can see the faint pink of scars along her forearms, lined with the blush of her veins. She quickly averts her gaze, focusing on her hands instead. "I think I might take you up on that," she says.

"Max," Vanessa calls from their back door and Max waves a hand to acknowledge her.

"Thanks, Kate," she says as Kate gathers the mugs to head back inside.

"Hey, Max," Kate says, pausing at the back door. "Don't let Victoria get to you. Or anyone. They don't know what they're talking about."

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes, I think they're lonely, too—just a different kind of lonely."

"I doubt it," Max replies. It's hard, Max thinks, for anyone to be lonely when they're surrounded by others.

Kate doesn't reply; she only smiles that same guarded smile.

Max sighs as she dials the number Warren jotted down on her school map. She's glanced at it a dozen times, but could never muster the courage to call it. She smiles when he waves at her at school, but then her eyes dart away as she hustles past, pretending there's more space between them than there is. There's a part of her that longs for his carefree laugh and mess of texts. She comes home and switches through her CDs until the music is practically static in her ears and she can't bear it anymore. Even the ringing connecting her call is reassuring.

When she hears the click that abruptly stops the ringing, her grasps tightens on her phone but she holds her breath until he answers. "Hey, Warren," she greets, exhaling all at once. "It's Max. You know, from, uh..." She's already forgotten the name of the school.

"I remember you, Max. You're kinda hard to forget," he laughs from the other side. "I was hoping I'd hear from you soon."

She closes her eyes and tries to imagine the last time she'd heard that laugh. The last time she'd pushed him aside because he'd made a cringe-worthy joke. But all she sees is his hand around her throat and smashing her head against the wall and she nearly drops the phone.

"So, Fridays?" she says, her voice much higher than she'd have liked. She plays back her conversation in the car with her mom to calm her down.

"Yeah, I have the whole afternoon off. So you know, we won't be rushed or anything."

"You know, you lied," she says and winces as soon as she says it. She switches the phone to her other ear so she can shake feeling back into her knuckles.

"Huh?"

"About the rate. My mom said you guys already agreed on the rate." _Shut up, Max. This is not how you make friends,_ she scolds herself and she can practically hear Warren backtracking before he does it.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I forgot. Actually, no. I just, uh, wanted a reason to talk to you. Pretty stupid on my part, huh? I mean I understand if you don't—"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'll see you this Friday?" She stops him before he can push the gap between them even further. She already feels as if she's dug herself into that hole and she doesn't know what she's getting herself into. But all she sees are the incompletes on her school record, the nearly-empty contact list on her phone, and how quiet all of her afternoons have become.

"Yeah, sure. Sounds great."

And Max hangs up before she can disagree. She saves Warren's name to her phone and spies the one above it, Nathan with a car emoji. She taps the name and a smile twitches onto her face. She hesitates as she pulls up the text menu, the blinking of her cursor like an exclamation point before her face.

 _You're playing with fire,_ she tells herself as she types a message to him. She taps her thumb on the side of her phone for several minutes before she hits send and watches the words speed away.

 _So I haven't blown up any cars yet._

Her phone beeps his response a minute later.

 _well fuck_

 _we need to get crackin then_

A small laughs slips out, startling her, and she's typing again before she can stop herself.

 _I don't even have a car._

She's only joking. She's not even sure she could blow a car up if her life depended on it. But Nathan's answer follows on the tail of hers.

 _i do_

 _wut r u doin tonite_

"Oh," she says and sets the phone down. There is a rush of adrenaline through her body as she thinks of disappearing to some dangerous unknown with him. Then she quickly reminds herself that this is _Nathan Prescott._ Kate had only told her hours ago how he'd hurt her in this timeline, too. This is something she should definitely not be doing. He is full of fire, impulse, and destruction.

 _Nothing._

She sends it without even realizing she's doing it then panics as he follows back with:

 _1 am_

 _be rdy_

She's playing with fire, and she already feels the first of the flames lick at her skin. The blush washes over her so suddenly, she feels it even on the back of her neck. It's been a long time since she's felt an adrenaline rush like this. There's a sense of control she's not used to, a sense of being _alive_.


	6. Chapter 6

Max tosses and turns in her bed, the covers entangling her arms and legs. She doesn't hallucinate, but she dreams of ropes pulling her limbs tight until her joints pop and crackle. She dreams of falling, suspended by the ropes until they fray and swing, the rain clouding everything in gray. She jerks awake, her sheets still wound around her arms, and counts her breaths until they settle. She doesn't hallucinate but her dreams are almost as bad. She wonders vaguely what the difference between the two are. She still wakes up wondering where she is and wondering if it'll be different the next time she wakes.

It's past midnight and she still hasn't decided if she'll go with Nathan or not. She doesn't want to hide something else from her parents, who still watch her as if they're afraid she'll implode. Their smiles flicker too much these days.

But then she's tugging on a pair of jeans and tying her shoes and the decision is made for her. She is dangerous.

He doesn't pull up to her driveway, but down the street, honking once. She peers out the window to see him lean out and beckon her over. The adrenaline hits her so suddenly that her hands shake.

 _What am I doing?_ she thinks, pressing her hands against the window sill to still them. _What am I doing? I don't know what I'm doing. I don't care what I'm doing. I'm doing. I'm doing._

 _I'm going._

She slips down the stairs and out the door and when she slides next to him inside the truck he rewards her with a half-smile.

Guilt burns her like an iron across her skin. Her bravery slips a few notches and she wonders if it's too late to jump back out. "I don't know what I'm doing," she chokes out.

"None of us do, crazy bitch. That's the point," he replies as he drives off.

"I don't really want to blow up a car."

"I didn't think you did."

"So what are we doing then?" She toys with the corner of her seat, running her nails across the fabric. She doesn't know what she expects him to say, but she's sure it's something destructive, possibly arson, shoplifting, or kicking dogs, and she's supposed to be the voice of reason. Except she's not very reasonable these days and she's certain this trip will be disastrous.

He just smiles and drives faster, the street lamps winking past them.

The ride is silent, save for the grind of the car as he switches gears or turns. She wonders what she'd have done if she'd been sitting in Nathan Prescott's truck in another timeline. If she would have let him drive off into some dark unknown, if she'd had let him trade some of his secrets for hers. If she could have looked at his hands, resting on the steering wheel, with a different sort of wariness with Chloe's blood staining them.

Then he pulls up to a drive-through and looks at her expectantly. "What do you want?"

Max blinks, the cautiousness gone like a sheet being yanked from her eyes. She glances back and forth between his lips and his eyes because she couldn't have heard him right. "What?"

He nods towards the menu lit up behind him. "Food, crazy bitch. Normally when you go to a fast-food place, you order food." He catches her gaze on his mouth and smiles lazily. "If you want a milkshake, this is, like, the only place you'd ever want to get one," he offers when she doesn't immediately answer.

"I didn't bring any money," she confesses and mentally slaps herself for not thinking of it.

"I'm paying, jackass. Come on, we don't have all night." He drums his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Okay, then I'll have a milkshake." She looks away from his smile which hasn't changed since they pulled in. It looks entirely too predatory on him. "Thanks," she adds awkwardly.

"Okay, then two chocolate milkshakes," he shouts at the speaker and Max focuses on the dashboard in front of her, which is meticulously clean for a teenage boy's truck. She wonders if this boy, whose emotions and actions slide like oil around her, is this neat about all of his possessions.

He hands her one milkshake and then pulls back onto the road, sipping his. "So, crazy bitch—"

"Stop calling me that," she interrupts, taking a sip from her own.

"Okay, Max," he drawls, rolling his eyes, "you're too fucking quiet. It's making me nervous."

Max laughs but when she turns towards him, he's dropped his smile and regards her carefully. "I don't usually do this," she explains and gestures to the truck, the milkshake, the night sky outside. "So I don't really know what to say. What do you have to be nervous about anyway? You're not the girl in a truck with a strange guy."

He snorts a brief laugh and shakes his head. "Strange guy with a strange girl, anything could happen."

"Uh, no. Not really," she replies, straightening in her seat. The urge to flee hits her again.

"Relax, crazy Max. I was joking. You don't need to kill yourself." He nods over to the passenger door, where she's gripped the handle without even realizing it. He falls quiet and Max can see the muscles twitch in his jaw. He taps on the steering wheel again. "I don't like silence," he says after a moment. "I don't like thinking. Talking usually means I'm not thinking, right? So silence makes me nervous."

Max finishes her milkshake and sets it aside. She knows exactly what he's talking about. Being alone in her head is a dangerous place to be, especially when she isn't even certain of the world around her.

He doesn't elaborate and she struggles to say something to keep the silence from building. "What was it like for you?" she blurts out, her voice quiet.

"What do you mean?" Nathan turns off the main road and sets down his own unfinished milkshake.

"The meds, the therapy, the…whatever made you get there in the first place."

"Full of questions, aren't you? What is this, Psycho Bonding 101 or something?"

"I'm not a psycho," she retorts and he barks out a laugh.

"I don't know what you want me to tell you. That the world is fucked up. Sometimes it fucks you up. Sometimes you don't know the degree of fuckery until it's staring at you in flames as high as the trees." His eyes seem alight with a fire of their own and it makes Max look away quickly.

"You get used to it," he continues, echoing the words she'd told Kate earlier. "That's all, really."

It only brings her more questions. "What was I like before?" She tries a different route. "You know, before the hospital? Was I still like this?"

Nathan turns off the main road and sets down his own unfinished milkshake. "I don't know. I was caught up in my own shit. I think you got a little too close to people's faces around the time you flipped. You definitely got all up on Victoria, but you know, she kinda deserved it." He shoots her a quick glance; the edges to his face have softened, but then he faces forward again. "But before that? Before all the other shit? I don't know. You were quiet, kept away from people. You were just Max whoever-the-fuck-you-were. Too boring for the rumor mill, anyway."

"So I'm boring?" she asks, amused. She can't imagine being too close to anyone's face, let alone Victoria. But then she sees a flash of Victoria shoving her into a wall, dropping an apple into her soup, tripping her as she walks past, and she can feel the anger trickling back into her veins.

"That's not what I said," he grunts and they pull up in front of an old warehouse. The street is dark and the building looms overhead, the ceiling rotting and caved in at several points. He turns the car off but doesn't move. He turns towards her and plucks the empty container away from her and tosses it in the trash bag behind him. "You, Mad Max, are not really what I'd call boring." He taps against her temple.

She winces at his touch and at the nickname, which sounds more than taunting coming from him. "Thanks, I guess," she says, but he's already out of the truck.

"Come on," he calls out and he's already jogging up towards the abandoned building.

Max follows hesitantly and when he leans over a battered deck missing a staircase, he offers his hand. She takes it and he lifts her awkwardly up next to him. "This," he says, leaning back on folded arms and pointing toward the hole in the ceiling, "is my haven." Stars are scattered across the patch of sky above them and Max is startled into silence again. "I come here when I can't sleep. I mean, I've got meds for it, but fuck. Sometimes, I'd rather just look up at the sky."

Max sits cross-legged as she peers up through the hole but Nathan yanks her arm so that she collapses next to him.

"You can't see jack shit from that angle," he clarifies.

She can both hear and feel him breathing next to her, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, the restlessness of his arms as he shifts slightly.

"Yeah?" he nods towards the sky and Max nods as well.

"It's beautiful," she adds and he scoffs.

"No, it's not. It's, like, hopeless and shit. They're all these little blinks of light that keep moving further away. It's..."

"Beautiful," Max insists and this time he doesn't scoff.

"You're getting emotional on me, crazy bitch."

"What? No, I'm not."

He scoffs. "Yeah, well, in a few bazillion years or whatever, everything will be broken apart and spread out until there's just dust." He gestures to the disintegrating building they're sitting in. "It'll be like this junk but in the sky. Nothing left. You think that's beautiful?"

"Oh, come on. There's always beauty in the darkness. You just have to know where to look for it." She picks up a broken window frame from behind her and holds it up between them. "See? Broken and useless but I bet there was a pretty nice view from this at some point."

Nathan gives her an odd look, one eyebrow hiked high, before snatching the frame from her and tossing it back behind them.

"So, why come then?" she asks.

He just smiles secretively. "Are you still hallucinating?" he asks and the sudden change of subject throws her off guard.

She raises herself on one elbow and turns towards him. He stares upwards, not meeting her gaze. "I don't know," she addresses his jacket instead. "I still have fucked up dreams. They're not as bad. It's more like they're muted or something. But they haven't...I mean, Warren hasn't—"

"Warren?" He turns his attention to her and she wishes she hadn't said anything at all. "Warren Gayram? What the fuck did he do to you?"

"Huh? Nothing." But he sits up so suddenly that she nearly topples off the deck. "No, I mean, he was in my hallucinations."

"Doing what?" He raises an eyebrow.

Max sighs, trying to force the heaviness in her chest out through the exhale. "Some pretty fucked up shit," she says because it's all she can say.

He doesn't prod. "He was the one who went up there on the roof," he says slowly. "When you flipped out. He went up there trying to calm you down. I mean, the whole goddamn security team followed up there a second later, but fuck. I thought he'd have gone after you if you'd jumped."

She sees it in his words as he says them, the blackness beneath her feet, the world miniscule even beneath that. She feels the rain beat like pebbles against her arms and Warren's voice fishing to find purchase against her. _Max. Max, no._ He's close, but not close enough, the rain dragging his voice into the distant crack of thunder.

She blinks into Nathan's gaze, curious, surveying, and something a little darker that she can't understand. "What?" She breaks away from the image, but the panic is still there, like a shadow. "Why didn't anyone tell me about all this?" _Why can't I remember?_ is what she means, but if these memories are threads tethering her here, she has her hands full already.

Nathan laughs, the same wild laugh from the hospital, and he keeps laughing until he's out of breath. "Because you're a delicate fucking flower, that's why. Can't have you breaking again, can we?"

His laughter shocks the panic out of her and she doesn't like what it leaves behind. "I think I can fucking handle it," she says and he's laughing again. "You're full of shit, Nathan." She slides off of the deck. She doesn't know why his laughter angers her, but it does. It's like needles pushing into her bones and she needs to move away from it.

"Max," he says, his laughter dying. When she walks away, he jumps down to follow her. "Come on, Max. I don't think you can't handle it. I don't think you're weak, okay?"

She continues walking and he jogs after her, grabbing hold of her arm to stop her. "Let me go," she snaps.

"I wouldn't have told you if I thought that, right? Come on, don't fucking walk away from me. Hit me if it makes you feel better." He thumps his chest and she tries yanking her arm back.

"I'm not going to hit you, Nathan."

His eyes are wide and wild, seeing through her and into her all at once. She can practically see their fire flickering in front of her. "No, you're not, are you?"

"I'm just tired of everyone treating me like I'm going to break," she says, running her free hand through her hair until she's grasping fistfuls of it. "I feel like I'm being left out of everything, even myself."

His hand is still around her arm and it loosens, sliding down to catch her wrist. "I know," he says and he closes his eyes against the smile that looks slightly hysterical on him.

She shivers and his eyes snap open at the movement. He lets go of her hand and shrugs off his jacket, placing it against her shoulders. "Come on. Let's get your ass home before the sun comes up."


	7. Chapter 7

There's an emptiness when Max wakes up the next morning, the adrenaline dulled by sleep and the world around her is too still. The mattress is too hot beneath her, the sunlight biting into her face. Her hands feel like bricks at her side. Nothing is made of dreams here, whether good or bad.

She slips into her usual morning routine as last night slips into her mind in fragments. The milkshakes. The warehouse. Nathan's smile upturned towards the moonlight. His jacket warm against her. _It's nothing,_ he'd said as they'd trekked back to the truck, her eyes trapped between his. But he'd draped an arm over her as they walked back, to keep her from tripping over the twigs littering the grass and her own feet that didn't seem to want to propel her forward.

She smiles when they cross paths at school and he smiles back vaguely, a curl of his lips that's gone almost as fast as he is, sauntering past.

When she heads to her locker at the end of the day, a wilted daisy is taped onto her door, drooping forward as she brushes past it.

 _Delicate fucking flower._

She smiles in spite of herself, slipping the sad little daisy out of its confines and weaving it through a buttonhole on her jacket.

Ryan drops a box in front of Max ceremoniously and she has to save her homework from being knocked from her desk. "Check it out," he says, waving aside the cloud of dust he's just unsettled.

"What is that?" Max frowns but her dad just keeps grinning, pointing down at the box as if it's a treasure he's just unearthed.

"Look." He taps the side to a faded label reading "Arcadia Bay."

"Is that..." she trails off, eying the large box. When she tears inside, there are a few pirate costumes, homemade crafts from camp, and a few she'd made with Chloe back in their hemp-weaving days. On top of everything, though, are a small pile of polaroids. She lifts them out gingerly, and all of them are of her and Chloe from various years in their childhood. Smiles, grins, arms slung over shoulders or playfully pushing the other blurrily out of frame. There's one of them holding up the cape they'd once made, covered in a pound of glitter and buttons with Max sporting a matching eye mask. They'd taken turns being the superhero and the villain, and while Chloe had made an excellent arch nemesis, it was hard to deny the glee she had when vanquishing evil Max with the not-quite clean end of a mop.

Max flips through the photos again and again. She feels tears stinging her eyes and swipes them away impatiently. Ryan hovers nearby, stepping towards her and then back again.

"I'm fine," she whispers, running a finger over the glossy photographs. She lifts them to her face, close enough to inhale the musty smell of their storage.

 _If I could just…_

She focuses on her younger self, looking so intensely she can see every grain of the picture. She focuses until she can hear Chloe's laugh echoing in her head. She focuses until her eyes swim, until the photo blurs, until her hand has grown numb from holding it so tightly. But nothing happens. The photo slips from her fingers.

Ryan rushes towards her, scooping her into his arms. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay," he says and she nods between each pause. Her entire world is built out of _okay_ and she can pick it apart in pieces.

"I want to go back," she whispers.

"I know," he replies and he doesn't but she loves him for saying it anyway.

"Watch it, freak," Victoria mutters when Max backs into her on her way to class. Except Victoria doesn't mutter, she shouts it in a whisper that's clearly intended for the whole hallway to hear. There's just enough disdain and disgust to make Max feel as if she's covered in slime, but she brushes aside the words and walks on.

"I said, 'watch it," Victoria yells after her and Max just keeps walking.

"I heard you the first time," she mutters, and really does mutter, because she doesn't want to start a fight when she's already late to history class.

"You should acknowledge someone when they're talking to you, Caulfield. It might be the only time someone ever does."

Max spins around and she knows she can't hide the flush against her cheeks, but she glares back anyway.

"I thought so," Victoria croons, her grin every bit as grating as her words. "Always so desperate for attention."

For a second, she sees a flash of a strobe light, a whirlwind of colors overhead as Victoria stares down at her, laughing. Then she blinks and there's only the washed out grays and whites of the school hallway.

"Hey." A voice cuts between them as Nathan approaches, his expression paved for battle. "Come on, Vic. Back off." His words are amiable even as his tone isn't and there's a pause while Victoria gathers herself, her gaze flickering between them.

"I should have known," she states, folding her arms across her chest. "Birds of a feather and all that."

The control in Nathan's expression slips another notch, but he mimics Victoria's stance and crosses his arms as well. "Really? Is that how it's gonna be?"

Max presses herself against the wall, wishing she could just fall in. "Guys," she starts, but neither one is paying attention to her.

The control slips from Victoria's scowl as well. There's almost something vulnerable in the way she frowns and looks away, something broken. "No, I suppose not," she finally responds. She stomps off, finding a way to push past Max even with her pressed against the wall.

"Thanks," Max says and Nathan locks eyes with her own.

He nods curtly. "Don't let her walk all over you," he says and the bell rings overhead, startling them both. "See you later."

Max takes off for history, still in disbelief over their exchange. She curses Victoria with every word she can think of under her breath. It's still not enough.

"Max."

She turns at the sound of her name, but all she sees is endless white. Her name echoes around her like bell chimes and she can't pinpoint its origin.

 _Max. Max. Max._

"Caulfield."

This time it's closer and when Max turns, she sees Victoria Chase standing next to her. She slams her locker door closed and leans against it, wearing a lazy smile. "How does it feel to be a senior now, Max Caulfield?"

"Great," Max hears herself saying, though she doesn't feel her lips move nor does she feel it as she rolls her eyes.

"Our final year. It's almost like you're one of the elite now, right? All the younger freaks beneath you."

Max narrows her eyes but keeps them fixed on her bag, zipping it and slinging it over her shoulder. "What do you want, Victoria?"

"There's a Vortex Club party this Friday," Victoria informs her and Max shrugs.

"Okay?"

She pulls a slip of paper out of her pocket and holds it up to Max's face. She snaps it loudly between her fingers. "Feel like coming?"

"Seriously?" Max starts to walk away but Victoria steps back in front of her. "Why?"

"You'd have fun," Victoria insists. "And I know you're not doing anything else with your weekend."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Max replies and tries again to walk away, but Victoria steps in front of her again, causing Max to stumble back into the lockers. Max rubs her shoulder, even though it doesn't hurt. She feels as though she's an observer in her own body.

"You've been here three years already and you don't have a single friend. Doesn't it get lonely in that geeky head of yours? I don't get you, Caulfield. I'm offering you a chance at something and you don't want to take it?"

That sparks something in her. She feels her high school years flip past her like a hand of cards and each one is blank and dog-eared. She didn't want to come back here. Summer break had been a different sort of solitude—one with favorite books and movies and a comforter wrapped snugly around her. Here, there were only cold locker doors and even colder stares of strangers who grew more and more distant each year.

She has stayed away from Victoria Chase and the likes of the Vortex Club because her parents had warned her that drugs and alcohol were horrible influences, that she needed to focus on grades and the promises they led to, and people who wove themselves in the way of that would only hurt her in the end.

She stayed away from them because she didn't want any vices that she couldn't drop easily. Her comforter was bad enough.

She stayed away from them because she didn't like the sharp angles of their faces, their sneers in the faces of the underclassmen, their laughs like lightning upon a tree behind those who they shoved into walls, whose books they dropped, who they knocked onto the floor.

But Victoria holds out the invitation as if she's holding out her hand. She holds out her hand as she does when directing Taylor or Courtney closer to reveal a secret. She holds out her hand as she does when leaning into Nathan in the hallway. She holds out her hand as she does when she greets anyone worth her smile. Her smile is a little too bright for Max's liking but it doesn't waver, even in all of the ten seconds it takes Max to decide her answer.

"Okay," she says, taking the paper and Victoria lifts her hand up slowly; a truce is made.

"Awesome," she declares and Max can't tell if she's mocking her or not. "You will love it." She flashes teeth as she grins and there's something about it that's a little too _off_. Max backs up against her locker and Victoria looms over, growing taller and taller until she vanishes all together.

Max turns and finds that the lockers have vanished as well. They're replaced by the humid smell of an old building. There's a strobe light hurling colors at her and the breeze hitting her from the back door is cold against her bare skin. She's wearing some kind of tank top and a skirt that is way too low and way too short. She doesn't recognize where they've come from but she vaguely recalls someone pushing the clothes into her arms, insisting. The heels on her feet pinch at her skin and drag on the gravelly floor beneath her. She tries to kick them off but her legs move as they're stuck in slow-motion. The world tilts and sways before her and she tumbles into the person standing next to her.

There's a bark of laughter in her ear as two hands right her and then she hears Victoria's voice calling from above her, or to the side of her. She can't pinpoint its origin. "Come on, Caulfield. Get it together. Are you really that bad at holding your liquor?"

She can't remember drinking any alcohol, even though there's a drink in her hand. She's pretty sure she would have declined the offer and even if she had drunk something, she shouldn't be this out of it. It feels as if everyone is breathing her air and exhaling it back out in hot bursts. She wipes sweat from her forehead and topples back into the same person to the side of her. "It's hot," she complains, but this time the arms don't right her. They hold on, the fingers pressing hard enough to hurt.

"Why don't you take something off then?" A voice shouts into her ear and she winces at the smell of beer.

"No, I'm fine," she says but the hands pull at her shirt, she pulls at the hands, and another pair of hands pull at her skirt. Someone is pulling at her hair and trying to force a bottle to her mouth. The cold glass clinks against her teeth and she screams.

"Aww, what's the matter, Max? Not fun enough for you?" Victoria calls out again and there's a flash of a camera as Max fights away the hands.

She bites at one hand, kicks at another, and screams until her lungs feel as if they'll collapse.

Then everything is dark before being broken by another bolt of brightness.

No one is pulling at her clothes, but her own fingers are knotted in the shirt she's pulled over her head. Her drink is shattered by her feet, her toes soaked in its contents. Another flash of a camera blinks at her from above.

"Knock it off already. Come on, fuck off, all of you," someone shouts from behind her, the voice slurred but sharp in its anger. The crowd slowly pulls back, and Max slumps back into the darkness building around her.

Max jerks awake, nearly slamming her head on the headboard. Her room is dark save for the dim glow of her nightlight. She peers around her room, checking to see that the door's on the right side, the posters up in their right spots, there are no bruised and broken bodies on her floor. Everything is exactly as it was before she fell asleep.

Her hand shakes as she fumbles for her phone on her nightstand. She pulls up Nathan's name and it takes her several tries to punch in something assembling human speech, let alone spelled correctly.

 _Are you awake?_

There are a couple minutes of silence that ring heavily in her ears. It makes the chirp of Nathan's text sound like a shriek in the darkness.

 _sup crazy_

She tries to type out her dream but she can't hit the right buttons and gives up, calling him instead.

"I had a bad dream," she whispers into the phone when he answers.

"It happens," he replies and his voice is rough from sleep.

"It felt like I was just watching it happen to myself. Not like a hallucination."

"Yeah, that happens," he says again. She hears him grunt and the mattress groan under him as he moves.

"But Warren wasn't in it. Like, that was another reason why I don't think it was a hallucination. Because Warren wasn't in it. It was...someone else." She comes to a screeching halt just thinking of Victoria. Now, she's not so sure she wants to rehash it.

"Oh? Was it some other nerdy fucker you fantasize about?"

"No, goddamnit. It wasn't a guy—"

"So it was a girl you fantasized about?"

"Nathan, listen, I don't know what's going on but I'm seriously freaking the fuck out—"

"Max." He cuts her off, and he says it so slowly and deliberately that it immediately grounds her. "It was just a dream. Sometimes dreams are just fucking dreams. It only feels fucked up because your brain is trying to sort out itself."

"It was Victoria," she says quietly and that shuts him up. He doesn't even have a retort for that. "She tricked me into going to some party and then there were people trying to rip my clothes off, except it was really me doing it while she took pictures or something fucked up like that—"

"Max," he says again, this time with an edge of urgency. "I don't think...I mean you probably...well, shit." He lets out a frustrated breath that rattles in the phone.

"What?" she whispers, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. But she already knows what he's going to say. She doesn't want to hear it.

"I thought you remembered. I thought that was the reason you were trying to stay away from Victoria."

"Remember what?" Hands around her wrists, fingers pulling her hair. Victoria peering down, her laugh drowned by the music. Then her vision slips and it's Jefferson standing in front of her, a syringe in one hand, a roll of duct tape in the other. _Remember what?_

Nathan sighs. "Vic had this great idea of a prank for one of the parties. She thought it'd be fun to get you drunk and a little high and take photos of whatever happened." His voice is heavy and she feels pressure building in her head.

"Right," Max mutters into her pillow and her eyes burn from straining to keep them open.

"Look, I'm not proud of what she did, okay? We got into a huge fight over it and broke up. And I took the fucking pictures and tossed them."

"Right," she mutters again, pulling the pillow tightly over her face. For a moment, it's easy to see herself as Kate, pushing through the crowd of people, the crowded fog in her head. It's easy to see herself slip, losing her footing against the gossip and comments that surely followed after the party. It's easy to see herself on the roof, one comment too heavy against the pull of the rain surrounding her. It's easy to fit herself into someone else's shoes, as if they'd always been made for her.

"Max, I'm sorry."

She hiccups loudly into her pillow, trying to cover it up as a cough.

"Look, I would have told you sooner. I wasn't trying to hide anything. I just thought you remembered. I don't think she'd figured you would react that way. I don't know what she thought. That you'd try to sing Taylor Swift and twirl yourself around some guy or something, I don't know. She may not show it, but that definitely fucked with her, especially when you pulled your little roof stunt. And she got suspended. So you got that going for you."

"Suspended?" she repeated, remembering Kate's words.

"Yeah, fucking suspended."

"Is that—" She tries to clear her throat again, but the only sound that comes out is a strangled squeak. "Is this what you're doing then? Trying to make up for a bad prank?"

Nathan grunts in response. "You were just another chick who got too messed up at a party. I stepped in because you were freaking everyone out with all your screaming. You don't need my pity, Caulfield. And I'm sure as hell not giving it to anyone. "

Max closes her eyes, shutting out his words. Nothing he says is making sense to her anyway. They are all lines running parallel to one another. "So, that's it, then?" she asks.

"Yeah, well," he hesitates. "I've been to more than a few parties where I've lost it. I don't like rehashing that shit either. Max, breathe."

She yanks the pillow away and sucks in air, not even realizing she'd been holding her breath until she did. She drags in another breath and feels the wave of anxiety settle.

He stays silent for a few more beats, the crackle of the reception and her unsteady breathing the only sounds between them.

"Hey," he says, when he can't stand it any longer, "it's bad. But it's not that bad. Someone else will do something stupid and you'll be yesterday's news. And then you'll be too boring for the rumor mill again. Come on, Max. You can hit me next time you see me if it makes you feel better."

"I'm not going to hit you," she says, choking out a laugh.

He sighs and there's another creak as he moves. "I bet you wished you'd just fantasized about some nerdy boy now, huh?"

She closes her eyes again, covering them with her free hand. "Yeah, like that would do me any good."

"What? You're not hot for Warren Gayram?"

"Oh, shut up." She can't believe he's going to tease her now, of all times.

"How incredibly fucking shocking. So what is your type if it's not hopeless nerds?"

Max pulls her pillow over her face and doesn't know whether to laugh or scream.

"Your silence is pretty interesting, Caulfield."

"I'm not discussing dating potential with you, Nathan."

"Oh, come on. It made you feel better."

She doesn't want to admit that he's right.

"Wanna know my type?" he says, baiting her.

"No," she says, mostly into the pillow.

"Good, because I'm not telling you anyway."

"You're impossible," she tells him and he just laughs. Her head is throbbing from the lack of sleep and she pulls back to notice the time blaring at the top of her screen. "Shit. It's so late. I'm sorry."

He laughs again, but her small bit of reason levels her enough. "You apologize when I think you want to rip my fucking throat out. You're full of surprises, Max Caulfield. Go to sleep. Dream up some hot sexy scene that doesn't involve demons or weirdos groping you. And then you can tell me all about it tomorrow."

"You're disgusting," she says and she hates that she's smiling despite it.

"Night."


	8. Chapter 8

There's a loud rumble of a truck when Max's mother drops her off for school. She spins around and for a moment, she expects to see Chloe leaning out of the window of her truck, her grin beckoning. But it's only someone's broken-down car that skitters past her.

Max sighs, catching the toe of her shoe against the heel of the other. Chloe creeps up on her in the smallest of places. A car driving by, a blur of blue hair in the grocery store, the squeak of boots on the floor behind her. Once she nearly threw her arms around someone sporting a white tank top and black jeans. Then she caught sight of the bewildered face that was most definitely not Chloe. She'd scrambled backwards, apologizing profusely.

In a sea of people, Max feels like an island without Chloe. She rocks on her feet, watching the cars drive past as they drop off more students. In the slowly diminishing line, any of them could be Chloe's if she doesn't focus too much.

She sighs again and turns just as someone bumps into her, nearly sending her crashing into the door.

"Thanks," she grumbles but the guy has already left, completely oblivious.

This time, Max feels the stares that follow her as she makes her way to class. The whispers of _freak, weirdo, psycho_ feel more like rocks against her back as they pass her ears. Victoria's scowl as she walks past only adds to the atmosphere. When someone stands beside her locker door as she tries to open it, he just grumbles and shoves away with more force than needed.

She's gone from being invisible to a flashing sign amongst the crowd. And the thing is, she doesn't know if it's been this way for a while, or if she's just come out from behind a veil the past couple of weeks.

She pulls at the hem of her shirt and shrugs her jacket a little closer together. She doesn't know how far the photos have traveled or how much anyone has seen. But they have; everyone knows it nearly pushed her off the rooftop, and it unnerves her. She can feel all of them rattling in her head like marbles.

"Hey, look at this," someone calls out next to her, and she sees a tall boy lean towards his friend, showing him whatever amusing secret is on his phone screen.

A flash of white hits the walls and Max hears laughter. She feels herself lean against the wall, bumping roughly against her back and her vision clouds red before fading back to normal. She catches a shot of Kate stumbling out of view on the phone screen and the laughter echoes back sharply against her ears.

Then she blinks and Kate isn't there. There's some clip of a person stumbling around a raft and the two boys laugh raucously in response.

She blinks again and feels her breath leave her in small shaky bursts, as if someone is yanking them from her chest. She swallows enough air to make her chest burn and turns away from the boys.

 _Nothing is permanent here_ , she tells herself, as her palms are slick with sweat and her footsteps sound like thunder with each step.

 _Nothing is permanent here_ , she thinks, as the eyes of passersby skim over her, past her, through her.

 _Nothing is permanent here_ , she insists, her hand numb at her side and she realizes she's clenched it into a fist.

She lets go and shakes out her hand, burying her face beside the cool metal of her locker door. The temperature bites into her skin and her breath evens out.

"Hey, Max."

She jumps at the proximity of the voice and nearly slams her locker door into Warren. "Jesus, you scared the crap out of me," she mutters, her voice still shaky.

He grins sheepishly. "Sorry." He pauses when he catches sight of her expression. "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost or something."

She laughs, the sound feeling too brittle from her lips, but tries to shrug it aside. "Yeah, just a rough morning."

"Ah, well, it's about to get better." His grin is a little too forced now, making up for her lack of enthusiasm. "You ready for this afternoon?"

"You mean the drive..." She trails off and the laugh that escapes her now is little more than a wheeze. There are too many Warrens standing beside her now. One from her own timeline, one from her hallucination, one from here.

She feels a hundred tiny emotions shatter inside her. A blush crosses her face, but she also wants to pull at her hair because it's a freaking _study session_ and she shouldn't be freaking out. She wants to scream at him because his smile looks too wrong under the overhead light. She feels her face explode into pain at just the thought of it. She wants to fall back in time and ask him about the joke where two elements walk into a bar.

She wants to run far, far away until there's nothing but sky and ground to meet her.

She lays her head against her locker door again.

"The what? You sure you're okay?"

"Tired," she mutters, pulling her face away from the metal. She forces a smile on her face that she hopes is convincing. "You're excited for homework?"

He shrugs. "Guilty as charged. It's rare that I get to lay down my intellect for someone else to enjoy." He grins again but it quickly falls flat when she doesn't laugh. "If you feel up to it, that is. We can shoot for next week if you—"

"No, I'll be okay," she says, waving aside his words, his frown.

An arm slams down in front of her, startling the two of them backwards.

"Gayram," Nathan greets, without even looking at him. He stares down at Max instead. "Kindly go fuck off."

Warren scoffs but doesn't move, his gaze questioning as he looks towards Max.

"So, I'm waiting to hear about that dream last night," Nathan continues, as if he isn't interrupting anything. "You know, the one where you got all hot and heavy thinking about—"

"Nathan," Max scolds, her fingers against her temples. She doesn't feel equipped for this. "Not now."

He holds his hands up in mock surrender.

"You know this creep?" Warren points to Nathan as if he's bacteria growing on the side of her locker.

"I said get lost, fuckface." He leers into Warren's face, startling him backwards and Warren crashes into the locker behind him.

"Nathan, stop it," Max says, wedging herself between them. But Nathan has already turned away, leaning against her locker and watching them with a twist of a smirk.

Max sighs and grabs hold of Warren's arm, pulling him away from her locker. "Don't worry about it, Warren. He doesn't mean to be a jackass. It just comes out naturally." Her lips tip up into a more realistic smile. "I'll see you after school, okay?"

Warren grunts his irritation but backs further away, nodding. "Yeah, sure, Max."

"That was really unnecessary," Max says when he leaves, scowling up at Nathan.

"You're hanging out with him after school?" he shoots, ignoring her question.

She leans against the locker next to her, exhaling hard enough to send her bangs into her eyes. "He's tutoring me, Nathan. And I don't know why it bothers you, anyway. I'm allowed to hang out with other people, you know."

"Says the girl who had zero friends at the start of term."

"Thanks for the support." She picks up her bag and brushes past him, but he grabs hold of her arm and pulls her back.

His eyes are dark when they meet hers and she can see the hallowed circles under them from lack of sleep. She feels a pang of guilt and looks away.

"You can get mad at me for a lot of things, crazy bitch, but I'm just looking out for your welfare here."

"Oh, are you?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"He just wants in your pants."

"Excuse me?" She tries to yank her hand out from his grip but he pulls her closer. She feels her breath crowd inside her chest again. "Are you saying you're the proper gentleman, instead?" she tries to snap, but falters. "Because I think you're a little mixed-up on what that term really means."

"I never said I was a gentleman." He grins.

She smacks him with her other hand, which is trembling far too much for her liking. "You know, whiny and jealous don't really look good on you."

"What?" he says, blinking, then drops her hand. "Who the hell said I was jealous?"

She sighs and brushes past him again. "Did you need something when you interrupted me?"

"Nope," he says, heading in the other direction. He grins again before whirling around and turning the corner.

"Asshole," she mutters and pushes through the crowd, the panic barely more than an afterthought at the back of her mind.

"What's up with you and Nathan Prescott?" Warren asks when they meet at the library. It seems like safe ground and they grab a table near the door. He spills his books across the surface between them. He's brought everything from history to physics, the latter probably being his own homework.

"Nothing," she says quickly. She pulls her chair up to the table, dropping her own pile of homework next to her. "He's just someone in my therapy group."

She studies Warren's gaze and the way his eyes rove past her face. She realizes she doesn't know how much she wants to tell him. The boy in front of her is practically a stranger.

"Therapy?" he repeats, his eyes growing wide. Then he catches himself and nods as if she's just described the weather outside. "You know, he's not...a good person to hang around," he adds.

She flips open her history book, smack in the middle of some chapter she doesn't remember reading. "I can watch out for myself," she says bluntly.

"I didn't mean it like that," he replies, frowning. "I just...if you're looking for friends, there are alternatives."

Max is about to scold him again when she catches the worry taught between his brows. She sighs.

"Tell me about the civil war," she says instead. "And something that isn't in this stupid book because I feel like I've read it a hundred times, even though I don't remember anything about it. I need a new perspective."

"New perspectives are good," he says softly.

He settles into some lecture about the medical practices during the war and while his words are far more interesting than the wall of text before her, she still can't bring herself to focus. She nods when he questions her but he's getting further and further away, enough so that she can hear the drumming of rain outside.

She remembers sitting at a table not so long ago with him, a different library, a different school, a different subject between them. Warren buried in chemistry homework while she was buried in a book for English. Warren had kicked his feet on the table in front of her and she had pushed them off in disgust. Kate had slipped into the chair next to her as they complained about having too much homework that weekend. Warren joked about wishing he could just hop into a TARDIS and fly into Monday.

Max didn't have powers. Not then, anyway.

Not now.

The table tilts up at her and she feels herself falling. Kate and Warren's laughter mixes with the rain around her and it's rushing against her face, cold and piercing against her skin.

"Max," Warren's voice cuts through her thoughts and she realizes she's been staring at the door. The table is flat beneath her palms. "You want to stop for the day? You look tired."

She rubs her eyes, which feel dry and heavy and as if she hasn't slept in a thousand years. "Yeah, I think so. Sorry."

"No problem. Do you need a ride home or anything?"

She smiles lightly at him. "My mom's picking me up, but thanks." She feels his eyes on her back, studying her as she gathers her books. They head for the door, but he hovers in the doorway.

"You know, if you ever need to talk to someone or something, you can just call. Even if it's just to rant about a bad day or you're bored or something." He scratches his neck and tries to hide the furious blush across his face, which makes Max's smile grow even more. There is nothing terrible or terrifying about it. Somehow, that startles her more than it should.

She's touched by the small gesture, even though she's sure some of it is pity, some of it left over from whatever had happened on the roof that day.

 _You don't need my pity._ Nathan's words echo around her and she thinks he's probably right.

"Thanks, Warren," she says, her hand on the front door.

He dips his head in reply.

She can feel his gaze on her as she heads to her mom's car, and she thinks it feels too heavy as they pull away.

Outside, the sun shines brightly, the clouds white and the streets dry.

She can still hear the distant sound of rain.

She regrets not having Warren's words stick in her head, because when she has a quiz in history, she's fairly certain she's failed. She taps her pencil against the paper, rereading the words until they lose meaning. She sighs and rattles on in her essay, grasping at any details she can remember but she's pretty sure she's blindly pulling bits out of a hat in her memory at this point.

She spends her break in the library, stocking up on any books she can find relating to the civil war, but the pile soon becomes too daunting.

"Need some help?" a soft voice asks from the other side of the shelf. Kate's eyes peer at her from the empty space she's just made and Max smiles sheepishly.

"Maybe. I think I'm over my head here. I should have just paid attention to Warren, but I had a lot on my mind."

"Maybe you should narrow it down a bit," Kate adds, eyeing the towering stack that Max carries over to a free table.

"I don't even know where to begin," Max groans but Kate's already at the computer and pulling up the catalogue system. "I feel like I know nothing."

"Perks of being a library aide," she says over her shoulder. She writes down a few notes on a sheet of paper and rips it free, studying Max's pile of books when she makes her way back. She narrows it down to five and Max sighs her relief.

"Is Warren Graham helping you study? Shame on him. He should have had you do this yesterday instead of you trying to read the whole aisle."

"I wouldn't have to if I'd just paid attention the first time," Max points out. When Kate frowns, Max realizes the other girl has taken it to mean _the_ first time, before the hospital. It's not the same first time though, not _hers,_ and her breath hitches as she tries not to point this out.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Kate murmurs and carries the unused books away. She disappears behind a shelf as Max cracks open the first book, smiling vaguely when she sees that it's about medical practices during the war.

"Here, I think this would help," Kate says when she returns. She holds out a small book that has absolutely nothing to do with civil war.

"Sylvia Plath?" Max asks when she recognizes the cover, frowning in confusion.

"She helped me immensely last year. I think she would help you as well. I've always found poetry like comfort food. Healing, thought-provoking. It gives you words when you can't find them."

Max flips through the book, some of the poems as familiar as her old English classes. One stops her in particular, however.

 _Tonight, in their infinitesimal light of the stars,  
The trees and the flowers have been strewing their cool odors.  
I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.  
Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping  
I must most perfectly resemble them –  
Thoughts gone dim._

She swallows, turning the page to clear her thoughts. She imagines herself in a forest rather than a crowded hallway—the students as trees, the noise of their conversation like the fragrance of the trees and flowers. She reads the first line again, and feels it jar something horrible in her ribcage.

 _I am vertical  
But I'd rather be horizontal._

She sees the black surface of the roof underneath her feet again, the rain falling around her.

 _It's like I can't stay vertical._

The words feel as unfamiliar in her head as they do on the page.

She clears her throat and forces a smile, flipping the small book closed. "Wow," she finally manages. "This is...this is great, Kate. Thanks."

"You're very welcome. I've got to finish shelving these books, but let me know if you need anything."

When she leaves, Max flips back to the poem, reading it again and again, letting the words wash over her like rain. She can still hear the rain as well, the distant beating against the ground at her feet. It both unsettles her and coaxes something warm inside her chest. She slips the book into her pile and checks them out. When she stacks the other texts in her locker, she slides the Plath book into her bag to read during class.

The warmth doesn't leave her chest.

Max digs through the old box from Arcadia Bay. She's already taken the polaroids out, but the box still sits in her closet and she rifles through it when she misses Chloe the most. Days like this, when the sun is too bright and begging for her to follow its trail in Chloe's truck, are the hardest.

She traces her finger against the pirate doodle on the CD in her hands. It already feels like a decade has passed since she last held it in Chloe's room, in the alternate timeline. She slips it into her stereo, smiling faintly at the first familiar chord.

She shoves the box back into her closet, knocking over some of the books from her bookshelf. She has two bookshelves and the one in her closet seems to be the catchall for the books she's forgotten about or hadn't wanted to get rid. Some of them look as if they've never even been opened.

A faded blue notebook catches her eye. It's the only fallen object that's not technically a book and she flips through the pages idly. Inside are doodles of Chloe, some from when they were kids, some with her smirking under a flare of blue hair. There's one of Max pushing Chloe on a swing, one with them building a fort out of old cardboard boxes. One with Max clambering into Chloe's truck and speeding away from Nathan as he kicks at the door. She pauses at that page, the Nathan before her already feeling more unfamiliar than the one she knows here. She quickly turns the page to a drawing of Chloe lounging in her bed, a joint held thoughtfully in her hand. The last page is a swirl of gray twisting around her. The words scribbled below haunt her as they have since she last heard them.

 _Don't forget about me._

Max's eyes cloud over and she blinks back tears, closing the book and placing it back on the bookshelf. A post-it note flutters to the floor, its hurriedly scrawled _to pack_ staring up at her. Either the notebook had never been packed or Max had snuck it back onto her shelf.

She snatches it up and grabs a pen from her desk. She scribbles over the words, sticking it to the wall over her desk.

 _Don't forget about me._

The red ink bleeds through the paper like a promise.

She's drawn a map a thousand times, a string of red for all the ways she could find her, but everything comes up tangled at the end. She doesn't even know where to begin.

She's gotten no letters back from Chloe, either.

She remembers at thirteen, sitting in the same chair, the paper blank before her as she struggled for all the right things to say. None of them are right still, even as she seals what is probably her tenth letter.

She thinks, not for the first time, of hitching a ride to find Chloe herself. To see if the letters are simply buried in some stranger's mailbox to be taken out with the trash. She'd asked to visit Chloe, once, a couple of weeks ago. Her parents had shared a look between them that lasted so long, Max thought they'd forgotten to answer. When she'd passed their room that night, long after they'd thought she'd fallen asleep, she caught the phrase "fueling her obsessions," and Max decided to let the subject drop. They would never fully understand.

And she was too afraid of what would happen if she were to knock on her door, only to find some elderly lady greet her and send her on her way. She was too afraid of heading into a dead end.

 _Nothing is permanent,_ she tells herself again, settling into her bed. She'll find a way to get back somehow.

She slams a hand against the screen of her phone as her alarm blares, fumbling for the OK button. When it finally cuts off, she rolls to her side and eyes the bottle of pills on her nightstand.

It's been a couple of weeks, longer if she counts the hospital stay, of the chemicals filtering through her blood, closing the doors in her mind and opening windows in their place. She almost can't remember a time where she isn't taking one as soon as she wakes up. It's as if she's taking a bit of this world and fitting it inside herself, changing her.

She wonders, and not for the first time, why she's taking them in the first place. She can almost feel its tether snap like a rubber band and the doorknobs all rattle inside her head. The key in her hand might not fit the lock anymore.

She brushes the thought away as if it were a cobweb and pops the pill into her mouth, reaching for the water bottle beside her.

There's a loneliness that settles around her as she gets ready for school. Hoodie zipped, hair combed, silent bedroom. In the back of her mind, she still expects to hear the murmuring of students outside her door, the soft hum of music. Every morning since coming home, she's tossed a blanket over her own stereo. It doesn't make the same hum, but she leaves it on anyway. There's a small part of her that's afraid of what will happen once she wakes up and forgets to turn it on.


	9. Chapter 9

Max feels like a ghost as she walks through the hospital halls for group therapy. The beep of too familiar machines, the buzz of the intercom, the shuffle of shoes against the floor—she'd nearly turned back twice. She'd even laid her hand back on the handle and pushed the front door open, only to let it clatter back closed a moment later.

"Come on, Max," she'd mumbled, pushing the door open again. Everything outside is muted as the door clicks closed. Her own shoes sliding on the newly mopped floor seem to screech in protest.

She finds room 317 easily enough. The small crowd is scattered amongst the circle of chairs. But no Nathan. Some regard her with vague smiles; others study her warily, as if they expect her to pick up Nathan's slack. She holds up her hand in greeting but it falls to her side a moment later. This group with their stories are several chapters ahead of her and doesn't know where to jump in. She slips in her earbuds to block out the too quiet whispers around her. It could give her time to work out her own story. It could give her time to forget it.

She cracks her Sylvia Plath book open in her lap and flips through it. The words catch like hooks inside her, grounding her. In a world where everything slides out of place around her, the still black words are the same, regardless of how many times she turns back to them.

She doesn't realize how easily she's lost herself until she feels Nathan's fingers against her cheeks, tugging her earbuds free.

"I called your name like five times," he complains. He winces when he hears the music thudding from the earbuds in his hand. "And why the fuck are you reading emo poetry?" He eyes the book in her lap, wrinkling his nose.

She pulls her earbuds free and slips them back into her bag. "Kate Marsh loaned it to me." She hugs the book to her chest. "And I happen to like it. Come on, it's a classic."

He shakes his head, scowling past the smile at the edge of his lips. He collapses into the seat next to her. Max can feel the swivel of faces turned towards them, but as the door clicks open, they look away.

Dr. White hurries in, her short hair fluttering around her face. "Sorry, guys. There was a bit of a hold up down the hall. How's everyone doing today?" There's a murmur of greetings from around the room. "Max, good to see you back." Dr. White beams and Max wriggles in her seat.

"Nathan wouldn't let me say no," Max says with a faint smile.

Nathan looks up, surprised. "What the fuck ever," he grunts, but a smile tugs gently at his lips as well.

"Glad to see you two getting along so well then. So, who wants to start us off? Anyone do anything interesting this weekend?"

There's a pause before someone speaks up, a wispy girl with an even more wispy voice. "I painted a mural on the back of the old warehouse on Dade Street. Some friends from my art club helped me."

"Ah, lovely. What'd you guys paint?" Dr. White asks.

"It's just a butterfly collage composed of other animals." The girl shrugs, but she seems fairly pleased with herself.

"That's wonderful, Eva. I'm so glad you've found a healthy outlet. And getting in touch with your creative side as well. I'll have to drive by and see it on my way home."

Max leans over to whisper in Nathan's ear. "Isn't that the building you took me to the other night?"

He nods, his smile growing wider at her deduction. He leans over to respond and bumps against her shoulder.

She jumps at the sudden touch.

"Seems like we need to go back and check it out."

"Yeah, we should," she murmurs, her voice slightly uneven.

He leans back in his chair, satisfied with her answer.

Max finds it surprising how easy it is to fit in with this group of strangers. She doesn't speak much; she lets them pass their stories like handshakes while she watches and listens. When Dr. White asks if she'd like to share something, she shakes her head, even as Nathan stares daggers at her. She meets his gaze dead on, because he's not one to share at group either. There's an easiness, however, that settles inside her as she listens to their stories—things she'd never willingly toss out and wonders if she'll ever be brave enough to.

But it won't matter, regardless. She isn't staying here. The smile that had found itself on her face slips away once again.

"Hey, Max," Dr. White calls out, when the hour is up. The group has already trickled out and Max drags her feet as she straggles behind. "How's it going since last week? Any new hallucinations?"

Max hesitates and the doctor's smile shifts a little at her unease. "Mostly dreams. Maybe things I'm remembering, but they're not quite...right. I don't know." She knows she should tell her about the dream of the party, that she needs to crack it open and dust off the panic, but she can't bring herself to say it. In the hospital where the light crackles too loudly above her, where everything is too white, it feels too real.

Dr. White nods. "Sometimes, the medication can do that. It can make your thoughts more vivid or foggier. It should get better after a couple of weeks. If not, then we can talk to Doctor Adams about changing your meds again. We'll talk about it more at our appointment."

Now, it's Max's turn to nod, but she's hesitant at the idea of switching meds again. She doesn't want more threads tangled in her head. She wonders again at just leaving her medication behind. Cutting all the threads, walking away from it all. If the _incidents_ would return. If her powers would return.

She's so deep in thought that she doesn't notice Nathan in the doorway. His chest meets her like a wall and she grabs the door frame to keep from crashing into him. "You didn't have to wait for me," she tells him but he just shrugs.

Max pauses as they pass a bulletin board next to them. It's the kind of bulletin board seen in every hallway—a collage of crafts with a few pictures scattering the spaces in between. But one photo in particular catches her eye—a girl her age with blond hair swept over her shoulder. She leans against a ledge just out of frame. One corner of her mouth tucks into a smile, as if she's sharing a secret with whoever is outside the photo. Max wonders what secrets this Rachel Amber has.

"Who is this?" Max asks, tapping the photo.

Nathan leans over her shoulder to see. His breath tickles against the back of her neck and she scratches at it absently.

"That's Rachel," he says softly and rocks back onto the heels of his feet. His eyes glaze over and there's a gentleness crossing his face that surprises her. It's as if all the sharp edges of his face have been wiped clean. Max doesn't recognize the person left behind.

He notices her staring and scowls, stepping a few steps back from her.

Max clears her throat and looks away. "Does she go to Lincoln?" Her voice feels small in the large corridor. "I haven't seen her around."

Nathan chews on his thumbnail and turns away from her. "No. You wouldn't."

Max waits for him to continue and when he doesn't, she peers over at his hunched shoulders, the overhead light glancing off the black of his jacket.

"Something happened," she prompts, her voice even smaller. A flicker of a buried jacket and Chloe screaming beside her passes through her mind. She pushes it away.

He snarls and throws his hands up in a shrug. "She's gone, okay?" His mouth contorts even more as he drops into a monotone. "She got mixed up in some shit at school and she…" He leans against the wall, mumbling into it as he continues. "She took her life. You were in the hospital during her funeral."

"Oh. I'm sorry." It's the only thing she can think of and she backs into the other wall. There is a whole corridor between them.

He shrugs again.

She remembers all the photos she'd seen of Rachel, the ones she wants to remember—her head upturned with a laugh, her hair dancing behind her. She remembers them so clearly she can almost feel the weight of the photos in her hands.

"Nathan," she begins, but his grunt cuts her off before she can continue. She shuffles towards him and reaches for his shoulder.

He shoves it away, turning away from her again.

She stumbles backwards and bumps into the bulletin board. It swings crookedly and she rights it.

Any of his gentleness is long gone now. He's harsh angles and lines that seem to radiate from him. She forces herself to glance at the surrounding pictures and drawings again. The photo seems so out of place next to the macaroni necklaces and crookedly-woven tapestries. She recognizes some of them, some of the pictures as well. She's been sitting next to them for two weeks now.

"She was in our group," she realizes, her voice hushed.

Nathan shuffles his feet across from her, his head ducked down to stare at them.

"I'm sorry," Max says again but he ignores her. "Why do you still go if it's so hard?"

"I have to," he bites out. "It's court-mandated because of Tennington's fucking car last semester." He falls silent again, his gaze following the line of the hallway.

"Nathan," she tries again, but the rest of her sentence falls silent. She gestures vaguely in front of her in another apology.

"Don't. It doesn't change anything." He mumbles something that sounds like "burning anyway," and kicks at the tiles of the floor. He jerks his head towards the hallway leading to the elevators. "Feel like a milkshake?" He asks it noncommittally, but the fire is still there in his voice, rough and unstable.

Max blinks. "At three in the afternoon?" she counters. It's somehow a different offer in the daylight, away from the lure of insomnia. She laughs and it comes out much more forced than she'd intended. She can't seem to pull away from the bulletin board, the frozen smile that looks almost slanted in the harsh overhead light.

She puts on a smile and shrugs. "Wow, you're living dangerously, Nathan."

He's already at the elevator when she finally looks over, jiggling the button as if it will make the doors open faster. The grin that spreads across his face is just as fiery as his voice, just as challenging. "Oh, I can be dangerous."

It wipes out all of her other thoughts. Max's smile falters, but she quickly recovers. "I think I'll stick to the milkshakes for now. I've been living on edge too much lately."

"Well," he says as the elevator doors open. "For now."

They speed down the highway, milkshakes in hand and Max leaning into the AC. It's too hot for September, and the milkshake feels like a slip of heaven in her hand.

While Nathan seems relaxed, she can see the rigidness in his shoulders, the tension in his neck as he clenches his jaw. When he glances over to see Max's smile, the muscles loosen slightly.

She fiddles with the radio and he bats her hand away.

"I don't think so," he says, settling on some rap song she doesn't recognize. The bass seems to bleed over the words. His fingers drum against the side of her seat, as if trying to drag the music's energy into his body.

She frowns, settling her hands back in her lap. "Hey, eyes on the road, dangerous one," she scolds.

He grumbles and lets his hand fall towards his milkshake instead, bumping into her. A small tingle shoots up her arm, but she shakes it away.

"What was she like?" Max asks softly. "Rachel, I mean."

His gaze flicks towards her for a moment before he mumbles something unintelligible. He chews on the end of his straw.

Max reaches towards him, her fingers hesitant at his shoulder. "I—"

"The kind of person who didn't deserve what happened," he interrupts, louder this time. He squints at the road ahead of him, ignoring Max's frown. He doesn't elaborate.

Max's hand drops quickly to her side. "I'm sure she didn't," she murmurs. The sudden wall he's thrown up has her fumbling with the clasp on the glove box, just to hear it click in the silence. When it opens and sends a tumble of pictures into her lap, Nathan grabs them and stuffs them back into the glove box. She catches a flash of Victoria's smile, a red dress that the Nathan in the photo seems to be enamored with. She's never seen that expression on him before. The thought of herself in that dress worms itself into Max's head. She wonders if it would earn a similar expression from him.

But Nathan's grunt snaps her back to the present and she shakes the thought away. She looks down at her scuffed Converses, the jeans she's worn for the third day now, and his eyes simply pass over them.

"Are you always this nosy?" he grumbles as she brushes a piece of lint off her jeans.

She'd always looked ridiculous in dresses like that. All for a moment in a photograph that he's tucked away in a dark corner of his glove box. It doesn't feel nearly as real as the car speeding down the highway, the rumble of the bass beneath her feet, the AC numb against her cheeks.

"I wasn't trying to. Sorry," she manages. She clasps her hands back firmly in her lap. She can hear the lock of the glove box jiggling around, as if it's loose or broken, and it would probably only take another bump to open it again.

"Do you miss Victoria?" she finds herself asking.

"I see her every day," he answers dryly.

She gestures towards the glove box. "You know."

He sighs and she can hear the click of his straw as he flattens it between his teeth. "People grow apart, Caulfield. Even if they were best friends. Things change. Even if you hadn't gotten in the way, they were changing anyway."

She glances sharply towards him. "I didn't get in the way."

He blinks, the straw still between his teeth. "I didn't mean it that way."

"Right," she says, thinking again of the Victoria in the picture and her own ridiculous attire at the party. "Because I wasn't just some drunk idiot in a short skirt, rambling and throwing off the mood of the party."

Nathan slurps at the empty milkshake in his hand. "No, you weren't. It wasn't your fault."

"I know," she retorts.

"If it wasn't you, it would have been someone else." He snorts. "Was the skirt the main problem you had?"

The glance turns into a full glare. "Seriously, Nathan."

The straw bobs in his mouth as he shrugs. "She was a little obsessed. You got under her skin and she hated it."

"But I didn't do anything." In all her broken memories, she can't remember saying anything to Victoria. She'd always been the punchline to a joke, the target of a passing laugh or insult. She'd never been the one to instigate them.

He snorts again, raising an eyebrow. "Do you know anything about Victoria?"

"I try not to," she replies as she rolls her eyes.

"How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?" He glances towards her, but it's his outfit she ends up studying—the pressed pants, the crisp collar, the jacket that's only rumpled because he'd tossed it onto his seat.

"Um, I don't know. I don't usually think about it too much." She wonders who thought enough to care for his clothes, if he'd ever given them a second thought.

"Yeah, well, Victoria does. Enough to spend hours on, apparently. And then there's you, who doesn't give a rat's ass about anyone or anything and she gets this idea that you think you're better than her."

"I—what?" She shakes her head. She doesn't know how anyone could have gotten that idea. She's pretty sure she'd spent the past few years trying to bury herself into nonexistence, in this world anyway.

But then she remembers, in the other timeline, her last conversation with Victoria. How she'd told Max she wished she was as carefree as her.

"If I didn't care, I wouldn't be in this situation to begin with," Max says.

"Yeah, but look at you, Max." He flaps a hand at her outfit.

Max squirms as she scrutinizes her outfit again, now with an added milkshake stain she hadn't noticed.

"You don't follow all that fashion crap and you still look good. It was messing with all the hard work she put into her image or whatever."

"That's ridiculous," she says even as the music from the Vortex Club party floods her memory. The Victoria from the other timeline blurs into the one from this timeline and for a second, she can't seem to separate them.

"Obviously, you've never met my dad. Image is everything." Nathan grumbles into the steering wheel now, hunched over it as he glares ahead.

"Obviously, I had other things on my mind," she mutters, trying to pull herself back into the moment.

There's a beat of silence before he says, "Yeah, I know." A shadow of a smile passes his face and he sighs. "Anyway, that's the thing with Vic. She has a way of getting to you. Good or bad, whatever." He frowns, chewing on the straw again. "The skirt thing—" He shakes his head. "Who fucking cares? Just do you, Caulfield, crazy and all."

"Because that worked out for you," she retorts, but she stops fidgeting and her hands fall still again.

"Fucking right it did." He shoots her a grin. "I'm a free man now. I'm done." But his smile fades slightly and his eyes grow distant.

"Hey," he says after a beat of silence. "What was I like back then? In your other timeline or whatever?"

Max hesitates, her eyes catching on his.

He shrugs. "I can be nosy, too." He looks away, studying the road as if it's something else unfolding ahead of them.

There are a million answers she could throw out. "You don't want to know."

"I'm asking, right?"

"You were scary, Nathan. You were angry and explosive and—"

 _Here is the bomb about to explode._

Max blanches as she remembers coming to in the hospital, the careful smile the doctor wore as he spoke with her. She wonders if she'd been like Nathan, enough like him. She wonders just how much of the old Nathan is still there.

"And pretty fucking scary," she finishes, her voice faint.

"So you were afraid of me. I see," he says, shaking his head. The smile has completely vanished now.

Max straightens in her seat. If someone had told her that, before the hospital, before Jefferson, she might have shrugged and reluctantly agreed. But somewhere along the way, she'd discovered the tier between terrifying and terrified. She had no room for either. "I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be," he retorts and she senses the fire creep back into his voice. "I wanted to do a lot more than blow up cars."

"But you didn't," she replies, a slip of a question beneath her words.

He offers another shrug. "There's a lot I didn't do."

"There's a lot I didn't do either." Her gaze swings up to meet his, unblinking. "I'm not afraid," she repeats.

He scoffs again, parking the truck. He takes in her expression and a slow smile spreads across his face. "Then prove it."

She falters, glancing down at the straw moving between his lips and back towards his eyes again. She knows he's joking and part of her wants to just open the door and walk away. But part of her is also enamored with that red dress.

He doesn't blink as he studies her.

She sets her shoulders back, leans in, and yanks the straw from his mouth.

His eyes grow wide and drop down from her gaze.

She flicks the straw, whacking him in the face with it. The straw crinkles in her grasp.

His mouth snaps closed so quickly, she can hear the clinking of his teeth. He shakes his head. "Smooth, Caulfield. Real smooth."

"I'd like to think so." Her smile challenges the one he'd given her just moments ago. She cranes her neck to see where they've parked. An empty field surrounds them and she can vaguely see a playground in the background.

"Full of fucking surprises, aren't you? Come on, I wanted to get some shots here." He fumbles in the backseat for something and pulls out a camera bag.

She freezes as soon as she recognizes it.

Her reaction makes him pause as well. "What?"

"Your camera," she says, swallowing thickly. "I bet you have a monochrome lens, too, don't you?"

She can feel the white light burning her eyelids, Jefferson's voice talking incoherently behind her, as if she's underwater.

"Yeah," Nathan says, ripping her gaze towards him. He's looking at her oddly. "You, uh, need a bag to breathe in or something?" He reaches a hand towards her shoulder, smiling faintly. Her eyes widen and she backs up into the passenger door, making him yank his hand back. "Max, what the fuck?"

She sees all the black and white photos he's taken drop in front of her like leaves, and the photos in the Dark Room on top of those, the features muddled and distorted as if they've been smeared away.

Max clears her throat and focuses on a cut on Nathan's jawline. The dark scab is vivid and bright against the bleariness of the photos.

"You were into photography in the other timeline, too," she says as she steadies her voice. "You took these really dark photos—"

"Sounds like me," he says, amused.

"No, but these were…it was so fucked up…" She places a hand over her mouth and breathes against her palm.

"Max," he says and pulls her arm away slowly. She yanks it back to her side. "It's not real."

"But it's the same," she retorts. "All the little details. How did I know about your photography? How did I recognize you and Warren and Kate? How did I know about Rachel?" She leans her head back against the headrest and closes her eyes. The sunlight bleeds brightly through the back of her eyelids.

"Max," he says again, harsher this time. "For Christ's sake, you went to Lincoln for four years. Someone's going to pop up in at least one of your goddamn hallucinations. You probably saw me toting my camera bag at school or something."

"Did you know Jefferson?"

"The English teacher that got arrested? I didn't take his class. Why?"

"But Rachel did."

She cracks open one eye when he doesn't respond. His mouth is set in a firm line. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's still the same," she replies.

"What is?" His voice grows quieter. "Do you know something about Rachel?"

"I know that Jefferson is a sick fuck who'll take advantage of anyone if he thinks he can get away with it."

Nathan screws up his face as he takes in her words. "Max, what are we talking about? Do you mean the thing in your head or what happened here?"

She shakes her head. "How would it be in my head if I knew something happened with Rachel and Jefferson?"

"You were in his class!" He slams his hand against the horn and the sound of it blaring around them makes them both jump. "Look, Max." He yanks the glove box opens and pulls out the photos again, shuffling through them until he finds the one he's looking for. It's a photo of Max at her locker, a copy of the Odyssey cradled between her arms, her eyes bewildered as they face the camera. "This was you a couple of days after school started. Seem familiar?"

She shakes her head again. She doesn't remember it—the book she's holding, the class she came from, not even Nathan taking her picture. But if she closes her eyes, she can almost hear the click of the camera, her squawk of surprise, and Nathan's mocking laughter as he walks away. The sounds grow closer when she reaches for the photo.

Nathan pulls it away, shoving it at the bottom of the pile in his hand and stuffing them back into the glove box.

"Why do you have that?" she asks, blinking out of her stupor.

"It was with a bunch of test shots I'd developed last month. I was going to give it to you in case you need it." The glove box falls open again and he slams it closed, beating on it even after it stays in place.

"Can I still have it?"

He hesitates before fishing it out again and handing it over. She hears his laughter again at the back of her mind. Leaning over, she focuses on the photo, squinting so the lines of the locker seem sharper, the colors seem to bleed brighter. She hears the clang of her locker as she slams it closed and grumbles under her breath. It's so close now, she can even feel the weight of the book in her arms.

But she can't dive in. The photo is still between her hands and Nathan is stock still beside her.

"It's just a photo," he says quietly. "It's not real."

She holds her hand out and the sight of it before her seems both too real and not real at all. "If I could just find a way, I could show you." Maybe she can't jump between points in this timeline. Maybe she can't jump to a point that hadn't existed before. She tries to imagine that she's in Chloe's truck, the crinkle of an old taco wrapper beside her. Chloe singing along to the radio that never bleeds or cracks, despite how the rest of her truck seems to be falling to pieces.

"Max?" His voice grows even quieter but she ignores him.

"Shh." She stretches her fingers until she can no longer feel them.

She tries to imagine energy pulsing through her fingers, her veins. Something deep and heavy that she can push against like the slap of a current.

She can almost hear Chloe's voice beside her and Max grasps for it and reaches forward.

Nathan is rigid beside her. She can hear the crack of his knuckles as he flexes one fist against his palm, then the other. It's louder than any of the memories of Chloe she can conjure.

Chloe's voice fades away.

She looks down at her hand, at the dashboard behind it that doesn't change, and it isn't till her eyes start watering that she realizes she hasn't even blinked.

A low whine sounds next to her. Max looks over, her hand still poised in front of her, but Nathan has his eyes screwed shut, his own hands fisted at his side. "It's not real," he repeats. His voice wavers as much as her hand.

Like a string being cut, her own hand drops onto his. They both jump but he grabs onto it roughly, squeezing until she can't even feel it anymore. "Come on. Let's find something real to analyze," he says too loudly. His other hand fumbles for the door.

Max nods, but her own hands feel disconnected.

He glances down at their grasped hands and lets go, sending a burst of static into her fingers.

"Real," she mutters as he slings his camera bag over his shoulder. She doesn't know what else to call these things that slide parallel to one another.


	10. Chapter 10

"What are we looking for?" Max asks, following behind Nathan.

"Something," he replies, adjusting his lens. He fiddles around with it and peers through at her.

She eyes the open field before them. "You mean nothing."

He shakes his head and leads her towards a patch of trees. "There's something in nothing." He snaps a photo of her, startling her backwards.

She crosses her arms over her chest and scowls at him. "How philosophical of you."

He kicks a pine cone at her in response. There's a large rock nearby and he moves it to reveal a gnarled tree branch. He kneels to take another photo. Circling the tree, he spots a bird on the ground, mostly decayed. "Perfect," he whispers. His camera clicks again.

Déjà vu prickles at the back of Max's neck. "You mean morbid."

"It's not morbid," he chastises and raises back to his feet. "It's life. It's a cycle. Everything that lives has to die at some point."

"This one's been dead far longer than some point." She covers her nose and backs up.

"Wimp." Another smile pulls on his lips. "What happened to finding beauty in the darkness?" He recalls her words from the other day.

Now she's the one to kick a pine cone at him.

"Petty," he says, laughing.

She ignores him and walks past, trying to get as far from the smell as she can.

This time, he follows her. She doesn't know how far they've walked but her legs begin to cramp and she collapses onto a patch of grass. "I need a break. Find anything?" The clouds above her stretch like cotton. Her own fingers itch to take a photo, but she knows that isn't what Nathan has in mind. There is no life or death above her, just color. Her eyes slide closed.

"You look high, Caulfield," he informs as there's another flash, right against her face. Her eyes pop open in alarm. She tries to sit up, but he kicks gently at her leg.

"No. Stay," he says, and she lies back hesitantly.

"I'm not the best model," she argues.

He just shifts towards her other side and snaps another photo.

"You know," she hesitates, "I used to be into photography, too. I had a Polaroid camera."

"A Polaroid?" he asks, lowering his own camera as he snorts. "Okay then, hipster."

"Selfies. It was perfect for selfies."

"The many faces of Max Caulfield.How fucking poetic of you," he muses and she shakes her head.

"Shut up." She glides her arms through the grass and he snaps another photo.

"Nah, it works for you. So why'd you stop?"

Her arms still and she closes her eyes again. "Things change."

He collapses next to her and she feels the heaviness of the camera against her hands. "Not everything."

Her eyes shoot open again as she grasps the camera. Everything in her entire dorm—no, bedroom—probably cost as much as this camera. "I can't," she says, trying to offer it back to him.

"You just press a button," he says flatly. He pushes it back towards her.

She falters, sitting up to aim the camera towards the drifting clouds.

Nathan watches her, still as the trees that are now dots behind them.

The click of the camera works into the silence between them. It almost feels as if it's come from inside her, something realigning in her bones or mind, snapping into place.

He tugs the camera back, eying the shot on the screen before him. "Not bad," he says. "Could be better if you work at it. If you want to borrow—"

"No." She stares at the camera between them and not at him. "It's too much."

"It's not a fucking marriage proposal, Max. You don't owe me anything."

She blinks away the stinging in her eyes and looks up to catch his scowl. "Too real," she amends and sees something fall into place in his expression.

He nods slowly and slides the camera back into his bag. "There's nothing wrong with real," he replies, zipping the bag closed. "Not all the time, anyway."

Max lets out a laugh that sends her coughing. "Let me know when you find that balance then," she says, standing up.

He grabs hold of her arm, rising to his own feet. He studies her, eyes flickering past her own, across the freckles dotting her cheeks, the firm line of her frown.

She can see something whirring away inside his gaze, something being torn apart and built up again, and she follows it right until the moment it's hovering in front of her. She isn't sure when he's closed the distance between them but his lips press against hers in one soft motion. It's sudden and demanding and there's steel beneath—as if by the pressure, he can trade her hesitancy for his stability. His lips move slowly once they capture hers and she feels herself fall into it, lean against him.

Nothing is parallel, but perpendicular, all running through her at this one point.

Then, he jerks backwards and breaks the kiss. His fingers skim across her arms, his eyes wide before his arms drop back to his side. "Fuck," he mutters.

Max laughs because it's better than listening to her heartbeat slamming into her eardrums. She can still feel the pressure of his lips against hers, tingling as if the blood is still rushing through. "Do you...do you kiss all the people you shoot photos of?" she asks lightly. Her words don't even feel real anymore, just sounds that fall from her lips as she tries to make sense of them.

"No." He frowns, fixated on the wringing of her hands in front of her. "Don't get used to it."

She shrugs even as her shoulders feel like bricks. "I wasn't planning on it," she says, looking anywhere but his eyes, which are full of challenges she's not ready for.

Max brushes her hair, the sound of the stereo fading in and out behind her. She frowns as she taps against the speaker, but it only crackles at her in response. It's old—she's had it since she was six, and before that it was her parents'. But it had been as resilient as the walls of her bedroom.

Her hair doesn't seem to fall in the same place this morning. She doesn't know why, and she has rearranged her part, swept aside her bangs, and brushed until her hand grew numb. It isn't until she's pulled the top half of her hair away from her face that she realizes it isn't her hair after all. The face that stares back at her isn't the one she woke up with yesterday. There's something slightly different—something more than a change of expression.

She raises a finger to her lips, pressing against them until the color blanches out. Too real and yet not real enough. She can still feel Nathan's lips against hers, even the drag of his fingers against her arm as he pulled away. Whichever Max he saw yesterday seems to be greeting her today.

She leaves her hair tied away from her face.

"So you and Nathan seem to be good friends," Dr. White beams at her.

Dr. White's office is too large for Max's liking and the random assortment of chairs and sofas remind her of a furniture section in a thrift store. The one she's sitting in looks as if it came straight out of the seventies.

Max shifts in her chair and shrugs. Somehow even Nathan's name sounds different to her, like some other layer has been pulled free, the skin away from the heart.

"Max?" Dr. White prods.

Max wonders which Max the doctor seems to be referring to, which layer.

"He knows a lot," Max says and holds her hand out, examining it, noticing how it doesn't shake as much. How utterly ordinary it looks, that aside from the nails she's chewed down to the quick, doesn't even feel like it's attached to her.

"Well, he's been through a lot to get to where he is now. How about you, though?" She digs through the mini fridge behind her desk and then sets a Tupperware container on her desk. "Pineapple?" she offers.

"Er, no, thanks," Max says, eying the container.

"Suit yourself," she says, popping a piece into her mouth.

 _Play the part,_ Max's mind tells her, _or you'll never get home._

"It's hard," Max admits. "Finding out what's real and what's not here. I remember things that haven't happened and forget things that have."

"Anything in particular?"

Max hesitates, twisting her hands in her lap. When she blinks, she feels the colors of a strobe light against her eyelids. When she sucks in a deep breath, she can smell the reek of sweat and alcohol. When she exhales, she can hear Victoria's laughter behind it.

Dr. White's office is too large and too full and Max's elbows bump against the sides of the chair she's sitting in. There's a dancing cat on Dr. White's desk, a kind of bobble-headed statue that keeps on bobbing and staring at Max with its comically wide eyes and smile. She wants to knock it off the desk. "I can't," she stammers.

Dr. White nods, a slow tip of her head. "Another time then, when you're ready."

And then it's Max's turn to nod.

"It just takes time. It's always difficult settling back into things, but it'll start to even out. Think of it like a bottle of soda being shaken up. The carbonation bubbles and the pressure builds but after a while it settles back down. Right now, your brain is still trying to settle back down. The dreams are your way of sorting through the chaos, the pressure in the bottle, if you will. And as things settle, you might find yourself remembering more. Some good, some bad, and that's okay. That's what I'm here for." Dr. White sets the pineapple back in her fridge. "Sometimes it helps to keep a dream journal. Write your dreams down after you wake up and compare them. It helps you sort out your thoughts if you can see them on paper. But, remember, they're just dreams. Sometimes they blend history with fantasy. All they can tell you is what's in your head. Your fears, your desires, your experiences. They can't tell you anything you don't already know subconsciously."

"Dream journal?" Max repeats and the doctor nods. She misses the journal that was almost like an extension of her. Her bag feels too empty without it. Maybe it was time to start a new one.

The hour ends much later than Max would have wanted and she slips her bag over her shoulder, nodding her goodbye. She feels less of herself now than she did at the start of the hour.

Nathan brushes past her in the hallway, pausing as if he's waiting for her response. She smiles but it only makes him frown and push past the crowd. Her own smile slips away as she heads to her history class.

Warren meets her at her desk, arms extended in whatever story he's retelling. She barely notices when the story dies off, when he waves a hand in front of her face to catch her attention.

"—hair different today?" he asks and she nods slowly.

Her eyes are trained on Nathan as he walks into the class, seconds before the bell. He's still wearing his scowl and it deepens when he notices Warren at her desk. But he lets it fall away when he glances towards Max. He gifts her a small wink before heading to his desk.

Max feels the heat in bright patches on her cheeks. She knows it means nothing more than the darkening purple on Warren's face, but she can't will her own blush away.

Warren pushes away from her desk towards his own.

She can feel Nathan's eyes from the back of the room, flicking towards the ceiling when she turns to look over at him. His smile still plays at the edges of his lips.

She can feel Warren's eyes on her as well. When she turns back, she sees him frowning across at her. He quickly smiles, shifting in his seat so that he's facing frontwards again. But as soon as she looks away, she feels his gaze again.

At the end of class, Nathan brushes past her again, snatching her pencil from her desk. He twirls it between two fingers before letting it clatter back before her. "Catch you later," he murmurs before slipping out the door.

Warren scoffs from beside her and the pained smile on his face makes her want to grimace.

"He's just showing off," she says, gathering her things and rising from her seat.

"Yeah, sure," Warren says. He gestures in front of him for her to go ahead.

She hears the crack of a pencil behind her as she heads out the door.

The cursor blinking on her laptop seems to mock her. The words that fill the page seem to come from somewhere else, a different Max, and she feels herself slide from one timeline to the other. One side of her wonders why she should bother when she knows this won't be permanent, why she should trail from class to class, take notes, regurgitate them back into her assignments.

But there's something that stills her when she falls into the routine, when she pulls her mind away from it. It's as if a blanket has covered the cage of her thoughts and all the rustling has settled into a murmur.

With a sigh, Max deletes the few sentences she's written and picks up her phone. She only hesitates a moment before dialing the number.

"Warren, how good are you with Dante?" she asks. She balances her phone on her shoulder as she flips through the heavy anthology. The words blur before her in a whirlwind of black.

"Uh, I thought Kate was helping you with that," Warren replies from the other end.

"Yeah, she was. I just…I don't want to ask her for help with everything. It already feels like she's done most of the research for my paper." She pushes away from her desk and flops onto the bed.

"I'm a little rusty on classic Italian literature," he admits but she hears the clack of his keyboard as he types something. "What are you stuck on?"

"I have to create my own levels of hell." _And the ones I want to write about are all labeled as "levels of insanity,"_ she thinks. She tosses the book back onto her bed.

He stops typing and laughs. "That seems pretty easy. What's the problem?" 

She groans, rolling forward on the bed so that the book is pressed against her forehead. _The problem is I can't root myself here._ "Everything feels like word soup in my head. I couldn't bullshit my way through an essay if my life depended on it."

"Hmm," he says, sounding distracted and starts typing again. "Fuck, no," he grumbles. She hears something being slammed down. "What the hell are you doing?"

Max pulls her head away from the book and frowns. "Huh?"

"No, sorry, not you. I'm just trying to multi-task. Okay, so what? Dante? Hell? What's your angle?"

A familiar chime sounds from behind him.

A small smile pulls at Max's lips. "Are you playing WoW?" she asks.

He pauses and she hears the phone being shuffled. "Yeah, sorry, is my sound too loud? You'll have my undivided attention in a second. If this is heading where I think it's about to." He pauses again. "How did you know? Do you play?"

"I used to," she answers, thinking of the times they'd played in the previous timeline.

"You should pick it up again. I could use someone who's not an asshole and _what the hell are you doing?"_

Max snickers, flipping through the pages of her book. The conversation feels so normal, so familiar, that when her mother peeks in through the open doorway, she's thrown off guard.

Vanessa beams at her smile, winking as she sets a plate of cookies on her desk and leaving her to resume her conversation.

"How do you know I'm not an asshole?" Max asks, taking a bite from one of the cookies.

Warren lets out something that sounds like a combination of a whine and a grunt. "Oh, please. Actually, yes, please. Please come save me from this hell."

"Speaking of hell," Max says and there's a clatter as Warren throws something down again with a yell.

"Done," he grumbles. "So, Dante. Nine circles of hell. You know, I think I still have my old Dante book from last year. I bought my own copy so I could write notes in it."

"You have your own copy of Dante's _Inferno?"_ Max asks.

"Yeah, somewhere. It's all of the _Divine Comedy_ , in fact. I can bring it to school tomorrow if you want."

"I would love that," she says. "Extra notes might help drive this thing into my brain better."

He pauses again and the laugh that follows sounds forced. "Great. That's…I'll see you tomorrow, then."

She doesn't know why she feels her stomach drop, as if anticipating something wrong, a sudden change in the wind.

She shrugs it aside and turns to her essay again and the laptop that's still flashing a blank screen back at her.

The rain around her falls like strings of pearls. She can hear them crack and explode onto the ground below her. Except she's not on the ground. She's standing high on the rooftop of the school and even as she wants to back away in panic, she finds herself stepping closer to the edge.

"Kate, come back down," she hears herself say, but again her lips don't move. She reaches for Kate's hand because she's standing just in front of her, hovering on some invisible ledge in front of her. But when her hand makes contact, the hand that grasps her disappears in front of her and she's nearly toppling over, screaming for help—help for Kate, help for her, and she feels Warren's arms embrace her, not pulling her back, but holding her stable.

She closes her eyes and leans into it, the firmness of his arms which don't waver or move but feel like an extension of her own body. She opens her eyes and finds herself lying on the roof with Warren kneeling over her. She doesn't know what he's saying but she knows she can't move. Her limbs are heavy, her chest is heavy, and all she wants to do is close her eyes again.

"Can you stand up?" she hears Warren say before his words fade out again.

"I can't get up," she answers, pushing at her body, pushing air, pushing nothing. "I can't...it's like I can't stay vertical." She doesn't know why she says this, but when all she can see is the horizon of the sky above her, a stretch of dark storm clouds ready to devour her, it makes enough sense.

Then there's an ambush of arms around her, lifting her, pulling her, and she feels herself disappear just like Kate. This time when she closes her eyes, she doesn't open them.

It takes her a few moments to realize that it's dark because her nightlight has burned out. Her blinds are closed against the moonlight. She reaches for her phone, missing twice and knocking the bottle of pills from her nightstand. They hit the floor with a dull rattle and she picks them up, rolling them around in her hand. They feel like stones in her grasp. But she slides the bottle back clumsily onto the nightstand and dials Nathan's number.

"I'm sorry," she says as soon as he answers because she knows she's woken him again.

But his voice is clear from lack of sleep and he pushes her apology aside. "Another one?" he asks and he hears him rattling his keys.

"Yeah," she says and her voice is trembling enough to cut the word off before she can fully say it. She pulls the covers over herself. "Don't come over though. I'm going back to sleep."

"Promises, promises." He doesn't put the keys down. She hears them jangling against the phone. "You sure? We don't have to go anywhere."

"I'm good." She tries to imagine Nathan sneaking into her room while she's only half-dressed with her parents just down the hall and she shakes silently with laughter. It's much better than the shaking she awoke with.

"So what's up?"

Her mouth goes dry as she struggles for something to say. His question feels heavier than it should and she presses a hand against her lips.

"I dreamed about the roof," she mumbles against her fingers. She doesn't like how heavy her own words feel, as if she's breathing life into them. There's black beneath her feet, black above her, black in the back of her eyelids. She blinks it away.

He lets out a ragged sigh. "How bad?" he asks.

"Could be better. Or less detailed. Or not at all." She can taste the rain in her mouth.

"Ignorance is bliss," he states.

She scoffs lightly. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Bad dream." She hears the amusement between the words.

"Any rooftops?"

"Nah, just this girl that I can't seem to stop thinking about."

She smiles slightly. "So why was it bad?" 

"She wouldn't let me in her room." She laughs and he lets her before dropping the heavy question. "You gonna move past it?"

"I don't know," she falters. She feels the air leave the room like a vacuum. "It wasn't me on that rooftop. I don't know how to move past that."

"Was it you that I kissed the other day?"

Her mouth goes dry again as she struggles for a reply. The question has been dancing on the tip of her tongue all day. She can't bring herself to ask it though, at the risk of breaking whatever spell had taken over.

"You're still you, Max," he continues, ignoring her lack of response, "whatever bad choices you make."

There's a sour taste in her mouth as she nods, then remembers that he can't see her nodding. "Yeah, sure." But she doesn't feel like it is. Every day that she's here, she remembers more. This is the longest she's ever stayed in a timeline and she doesn't know if it's some kind of trickling-down effect from staying here or if she's really remembering things that shedid. It doesn't feel as temporary.

She grips the phone tighter, her fingers sliding on the screen from perspiration. "How many times?" she asks. "How many bad choices do you make before you're not yourself anymore?"

There's a pause long enough for her to think that he's hung up. "I don't know," he confesses. "I'm still here, right?"

"I'm not you, though."

"You sure you don't wanna go for a drive?"

"I'm going to sleep," she repeats, even though her eyes feel as if they've been peeled and glued open. She'll be awake for quite a bit longer.

She hears him sniggering in the background as if he knows she'll be awake as well. "Need help?"

"No, I'll be okay—" His words catch up to her before his tone and she swallows the rest of her words. She feels the blood rush to her cheeks. "I'm not that desperate, sorry," she replies.

"Oh, you need to be _desperate_?"

She can practically see his shit-eating grin and groans against her palm. "Were you desperate when you kissed me the other day?"

There's another long pause. "Forget it," he finally says, the humor gone.

Her hand falls to her side. "No, I didn't mean it like that," she rushes on.

"Goodnight, Max." And the phone clicks into silence before she can answer.

She retraces her words, pressing her fingers against her lips again.

 _Nice going, dumbass,_ she tells herself. She settles into the covers, wide-eyed and even more wide awake, her fingers once again itch to rewind. She tries calling him back. The phone just keeps ringing, however, and she lets it clatter back onto her nightstand. The glare of the screen flashes against the wall of her desk. _Don't you forget about me_ stares across her like blood. She traces the words on her arm, over and over, willing their magic to work back into her fingers.

Max carries a mug in each hand while Kate fishes through the pantry for some cookies.

"I know they're here somewhere," Kate mumbles from behind a box. Something squawks loudly behind her.

Max jumps and nearly drops the mugs before noticing the tall cage behind her. "What is that, a parakeet?"

Kate peers over the box she'd been leaning behind, a bag of cookies in her hand. "Oh, this is Elizabeth. She's a sweetheart," she introduces. She holds out a finger which the bird nips affectionately. Kate beams in a way Max hasn't seen for a long time, the color in her cheeks and the light in her eyes as vibrant as if someone has breathed life into her.

There's something jarring inside Max's chest as she watches, some green-eyed monster in the hollow of her rib cage.

"You seemed more like a rabbit person to me for some reason," Max says, forcing a smile.

"I would love a rabbit but my mother's allergic," Kate replies. "So it's just birds and reptiles here. My sister has this enormous iguana named Fred. He's kind of charming if you squint your eyes." She laughs, and Max finds herself laughing along, even as the monster inside her twists and turns.

"You'll have to show him to me next time. I've got to head back after this. I've got another pile of homework to tackle before going out with..." She trails off at Kate's wondering eyes and her shoulders slump forward.

Kate leads the way to the back porch. "Nathan Prescott?" she finishes and her smile has grown fainter.

Max's smile drops completely. "We're just...friendly," she insists, "kind of. Sort of. Barely." She pushes his face out of her mind, as she's been trying for days now, but it doesn't lessen the way her blood seems to sing whenever she thinks of it.

Kate stirs her tea thoughtfully. "Be careful," she says. "He's not like he was last year, but there was a lot he did. It was as if he'd pick a fight with any and everyone. And they would be horrible fights. He sent a few people to the hospital. He would set fires, blow things up, especially Mister Tennington's car." She points her spoon at Max, as if she should learn a lesson from this, and sips her tea.

"I could have done that," Max says, shrugging helplessly.

"Oh, Max. You're nothing like Nathan. You can't compare yourself to him."

"I don't know. I don't know what it is I can't compare." It's not as if she can tell Kate she's come here after the fact, that she has stepped into shoes she's never worn and has to continue wearing.

Kate clucks her tongue as she struggles for something to say. "When he and Victoria were together, they spread a lot of disgusting rumors. They pulled pranks."

"Like the party," Max cuts in, her voice falling flat.

Kate gives a slight nod. "And there was some stupid rumor about me trying to sleep with Nathan. I'm pretty sure Victoria started it. As a joke. But it made others talk. And they said horrible things. I didn't even know half of the guys they talked about."

"You can't think people would believe that. I mean, Kate, you're—"

"Max." Kate waves her words aside. "The thing about rumors is that if enough people talk about them, they get harder to ignore. It doesn't matter how ridiculous they are."

"I can believe that," Max says, patting the other girl's hand.

"I know what it's like to let it build," Kate says quietly.

"I bet Nathan does, too," Max adds.

"Nathan," Kate continues, "decided it wasn't funny anymore. He just turned around and yelled, 'of course you didn't sleep with anyone. Who in the world would sleep with you?' Except, of course, it was a lot more vulgar." She cringes and tries to take another drink, frowning when she finds her mug empty.

Max frowns. "That was messed up," she agrees. "I think Nathan will always be an ass, but he's trying." She tries to change tactics. It's hard not to doubt her words, though. These are the same points she'd brought up to herself over and over again. She isn't sure when she stopped debating them. She stares into her own tea, suddenly feeling nauseous. The liquid swirls around and around and she feels as if she's falling into a black hole.

Kate nods slowly. "I know. He apologized to me at the start of the semester. But you can't just undo things that easily. I think he knows that, though." She sighs. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

Max shrugs. "You and Warren seem to be on the same team. Don't worry. I can take care of myself. We're just friends." She feels as if she's lying, even though she's not so sure what's the truth.

Kate folds her hands in front of her and studies Max. There's a wisdom far beyond Kate's years that's hidden there, tucked in the corner of her gaze, the lines of her frown. She nods, slowly. "If that's what you think," she finally answers. "That should count for something, at least."

Max sighs and pushes away her tea. She's barely touched it. "Thanks, Kate."

Kate smiles, as if nothing has transpired, even as the worry in her eyes disagrees. "Come by next week and we can trade ideas on our Dante papers."

"Sure," Max says, rising to leave. "Warren's letting me borrow his old Dante book, so maybe that'll give me a few new ideas."

Kate's eyes trail after her, widening a bit. "Really? He's not one to let go of his books easily. You must be one of the chosen few."

Max shrugs. "No big deal. It's just Dante."

"It took me two years to get him to loan me his Bradbury book when I couldn't get a copy from the library. He erased most of his notes from it before giving it to me, too."

"Why?" Max asks, trying to imagine what kind of embarrassing note he could possibly not want anyone to see.

This time, Kate shrugs. "Warren's kind of…particular about what he likes to share."

"I guess," Max says, frowning.


	11. Chapter 11

Max barely makes it to her locker before Warren shows up, twirling his Dante book between his fingers. "You ask, I deliver," he greets and holds it out to her.

"Thanks," she replies as she flips through the pages. "Hey, you saved the notes." The text is practically covered in penciled-in words.

"Yeah, well, you said they'd help you." He squirms from his place beside her locker. "I've got to get to class. Catch you later?"

"Yeah, sure." She glances down at his scattering of notes. He's labeled each cycle of hell in green ink, except for the seventh, violence, which is in red. _Creatures?_ is written beside it, like an afterthought, underneath a mess of underlined text. _What makes you tick?_ The question looks so out of place that she wonders if it's a reference to something else. She leafs through the rest of the book idly.

She almost misses the section on lust because while he hadn't erased his notes, he'd heavily scribbled over most of them in black ink so that even the title is barely visible.

 _Strange,_ she thinks, flipping the book closed and placing it in her locker. She could ask him about it later, but something tells her he wouldn't tell her if she did.

* * *

"I'm sorry." Max hangs from the top of the monkey bars, her knees hooked over the metal bar as she swings lazily.

Nathan looks up from his spot below her. He frowns. "For what?"

"For what I said on the phone the other day. I didn't mean for you to take it seriously."

He rolls his eyes. "If I took offense to everything you said, I'd be dead from a stroke or something."

"You seemed pretty offended when you hung up."

"So, you tell wise ole Doc about your dreams?" Nathan asks, ignoring her comment.

"Hmm?" Her algebra book is upside down on the ground below her and she peers down at it, willing Warren's earlier explanations to work some sense into it.

"I mean you're not just spilling your guts to me, right?" He toes at the book beside him. "You're getting nerd germs all over me."

She picks up her notebook and writes over a mistake Warren had circled. "You could do with more nerd germs," she replies. "I'm talking with her. It's just hard. She's not as easy to talk to as you."

His smile fades slightly. "I can't fix it, you know."

"It's not like I expect you to slap a band-aid on my head and tell me it'll be okay."

Nathan presses a thumb to her forehead and traces an imaginary line there. "Boom. Better?"

She flinches at the sudden touch and lets out a shaky laugh. "Not even remotely."

"Better get your shit fixed the right way then."

"Gee, thanks, Doctor Prescott. I'll take that into consideration."

He smirks up at her, the beginning of a crude comeback, so she smacks him with her book.

"What the fuck?" he says, batting the book away.

She laughs and pulls the book back up, reading over the rest of her equations. She peers over at him from the top of the page.

Nathan looks away, studying something in the tree near them, and she can see the gears working, probably deciding if it's worth digging his camera bag out of the truck.

She wonders how many times he's fallen back on his medication, how many sessions he had before he could talk to Dr. White, how many fall outs he had. She wonders how often he'd wanted to go back to whatever world he created in his head, what had made him decide it wasn't real to begin with.

She doesn't know what it's like inside Nathan's head, but she's sure it's not the same as hers.

Somewhere out there, there's a version of Chloe, alive and across the country, maybe; she existed once. Max has the polaroids to prove it.

When Nathan is staring back at her, Max realizes he's asked her a question. And repeatedly, by the raising timber of his voice.

"What?" she prompts, letting the book drop again.

He shakes his head. "You're checking out on me again."

"No, I'm not," she answers too quickly.

He sighs and flops back onto the ground. "What's up then?"

Max hesitates, because she knows if she says _nothing,_ he'll only dig further. And she's so tired. She's tired of sending letters that don't come back, that don't come with responses. She's tired of wondering what version of Chloe is out there, who couldn't care less what version of Max she was, to rearrange the blocks of their friendship to make sense again.

There's a house somewhere that could be Chloe's, but probably isn't. She doesn't want to think of it overgrown with weeds or with some unknown tricycle parked out front, as if Chloe had never been there.

She's tired of thinking _what if it's even worse than the last alternate timeline?_ Her nails bite into her palm as she remembers the _whoosh_ of breath before Chloe's chest fell silent.

She's tired of climbing through windows in her mind, of the dreams that swirl and change before she can grasp onto them. Her fingers ache to rewind every time she makes a mistake. Her parents tip-toe around her, afraid to toss their usual jokes in case she doesn't laugh or groan or blink. Warren's texts are only fueled with _are you okay_ instead of walls of words where he's put his foot in his mouth.

And she's tired of the boy in front of her that seems worlds away and yet there inside her mind, pulling her thread by thread until she unravels.

It's far easier to go back then to go forward, she thinks.

But that nagging question of _what if_ seems to growing stronger and stronger each day. It's too easy to believe she's been thrown into this timeline for a reason. Whether her past was constructed or simply left behind, there has to be a reason she's here, with Chloe's whereabouts unknown.

Nathan sits up, his head brushing against her fingers, and she resists the urge to yank them away.

"I want to find her," Max says quietly.

"Who?"

"Chloe."

Nathan pauses, as if he's trying to recall the name, and shakes his head slowly. Then he stops, his frown deepening. "Dream girl," he says. There's a far-off look to his eyes.

"My best friend," Max corrects.

"I thought you made her up. Like another hallucination."

This time, she shakes her head. "She was real." She pulls a polaroid from her bag, one she had rescued from the box in storage. She has poured over it a hundred times by now—two girls clad in pirate gear, grinning obliviously into the camera. The photo's already aged just in the weeks she'd been carrying it around, dog-eared at the top corners.

Nathan peers down at the photo then back at Max, his eyes flicking across her features as if he's trying to see what has changed.

"Tell me about her," he demands and so she does.

She feels Chloe slipping away already. She flips through the old polaroids on a daily basis, but the gaps between then now have bridged so much that even the clearest memory is fuzzy. She can feel Chloe's arms around her as the tornado next to them rages, but she can't remember the expression on her face, what shirt she was wearing, _what day was the storm?_

"She was Chloe," Max says, as if the name holds every detail about her. "You know, sarcastic and spontaneous and willing to break the rules if she needed to. She was...everything I wasn't. She was amazing."

Nathan doesn't prod. He just nods, listening as she talks about their lazy afternoons and breakfasts together, the time they'd snuck into the pool.

She doesn't mention the Dark Room, Rachel's murder, or how many times she'd saved Chloe. There's barely enough space between the words as she tries to squeeze them out.

He listens until she loses breath, then shakes his head slowly. "But you were a kid in this photo. You make it sound like you guys hung out yesterday."

"It was…in the other timeline."

"The other," Nathan repeats, as if there's some other timeline that Max doesn't even know about. "So, still pretty much dream girl."

"She was real," Max insists.

"Tell me about the one before then. The one in the photo."

And that Chloe feels different. Max flips through the polaroids she's tried to burn into her mind. Pre-teen mischief with scabbed knees and hide-and-seek in the dark. Chocolate chip cookies and pirate games that ran on for days and when they got bored with that, it was some other game to chase after.

"She was happier, more easy-going," she replies, her sense of nostalgia falling flat. She was more, then. Max remembers William's laugh, deep and rich and somehow _Chloe_.

She doesn't know how to tell Nathan this.

"That's the one you need to hang on to," he says after she's fallen silent. "Everything else doesn't matter."

"It does, too," she argues. She clings to her memory of them in the pool, Chloe's voice echoing against the darkened walls.

"Max." The way he says it makes it feel as if he's scolding her.

"Yeah, I _know,_ " she replies. "You've been telling me since the hospital. 'It's not real. It's all in your head.' But, say that for one second, this isn't a ridiculous idea. Do you think we could find her?"

He sighs again, his breath ragged. "She could be anywhere, Max. She could be anyone. You're chasing ghosts."

"Did you?" she asks. She knows the question will dig under his skin. She hopes it will.

He grunts in response. "Hasn't everyone?"

"So what made you stop?"

He looks up at her with guarded eyes. "It gets harder," he says. He hesitates before continuing, picking at a blade of grass. "To stay in that place. Sometimes it turns into something else."

"Like what?" Max asks, frowning.

"Something not as pleasant." He barks out a short laugh.

"I don't understand—"

Nathan grunts again, rising to his feet. "So, what are you gonna do? Drive across the country, knocking on every door? Come on, Max. It's stupid."

"It's not stupid," she retorts. She reaches for the bars and pulls herself upright before dropping to the ground. "What if you had a chance to befriend Victoria again? Would you do it? Even if it was a little crazy?"

"Victoria can go—" He cuts himself off, his face falling slack. He rakes a hand through his hair. "Yeah, okay, sometimes I wish things had gone differently. And if I could go back and fix them, I would. But it's changed too much now, Max. And it'll be the same with…" He waves vaguely next to him, as if an imaginary Chloe is standing beside him. "If for some fucked up reason you even find her. It's a fucking waste of time."

"I want to try," Max says.

He rakes his hand through his hair again, then once more, fingers digging into his scalp and sending his hair tumbling into his face. "I can't," he says.

"You don't—"

"I _can't,_ Max," he repeats. He takes off towards the truck, long uneven strides that Max has to struggle to keep up with. "Do you know how much…" He scratches at his arms then yanks his jacket off. He tosses it into the cab and scratches at his arms again.

"It's not real," he insists. "You think you lost your magical powers?" His voice rises several decibels louder. "What the fuck put you up on that roof then, crazy bitch? You weren't on meds then. This trip is just gonna fuck your head up even more. How are you gonna get your powers back when you can't even tell which way the ground is?"

Max feels the air rush out of her. Her fingers are numb as they cling to the door handle. "You don't have to say it like that," she says flatly.

"It's the truth," he replies. He swings his arms, one hand smacking the other before swinging them in the opposite direction.

Her gaze holds his as she tries to dig beneath it. _How often did you ask that question yourself, Nathan?_ she thinks.

"I don't know," she admits. She can remember standing on the roof, but not physically standing, as if she's recalling a movie that she hasn't seen for years. A memory removed from herself. The distant sound of rain, a voice calling out, dreams that make less sense the more she tries to analyze them.

Nathan can't pick those apart for her.

She looks away from him. "I just don't want to stand still anymore."

She can feel the air changing, a spark crisp in the air before a storm. There's no sudden snow flurry or unplanned solar eclipse to warn her. There's no foreboding tornado. Chloe could be buried somewhere years ago, already righting the scales Max had tipped. The timelines could collapse in her mind. She's not so sure they haven't. She feels it all ticking like a clock and she doesn't know what will happen when the hour is up, if she will burst or crumble.

"This isn't your battle, you know," she says.

Nathan doesn't reply. The war in his eyes seems to be answer enough. She feels like it mirrors her own and he's already gone through it once. If she's ticking forward, he's ticking backwards, into his own past.

"This isn't something you can fight and win for me," she continues.

Nathan gapes at her and kicks the tire at his feet. "I'm not gonna sit here and watch you fall apart."

She watches as he sways in front of her, eyes screwed shut, knuckles white as he grips the hood of the truck. He's a series of waves forever edging closer to the same point. He has probably been nearing it for years.

How long has she been here now? Weeks? Months? In the busyness of her mind, she can't remember. But if she's headed down the same path, she will crest a lot sooner than Nathan. And she will probably drag him right behind her.

She looks up at the open sky above them. "You don't have to. I'm not Rachel. I'm not Kate. I'm not the Max that was on that rooftop. I'm not you."

She knows it hits home when she hears him grunt, as if the air has been punched out of him. She bites at her lip, but she doesn't take it back. He'd told her that she didn't need his pity, but the way he's looking at her now makes her want to shove him away.

"Fuck." He paces in a circle that grows tighter and tighter until he's practically spinning in place. "I can't do this."

"Then don't. I'll be fine on my own."

Nathan looks up, sputtering a laugh. "You think I'm doing this so you won't be _alone?_ " He throws his hands up. "Maybe I just didn't want…you know what, forget it. See if I ever help you anymore."

"Then why? Why bother in the first place?" she asks, rounding the corner. The last of her calm breaks. Everything is punctuated in red. "I didn't ask you to. I don't need you to."

His eyes widen. "No, you don't need anyone, right? That's why you were doing such a fan-fucking-tastic job of holding your sanity together, right?"

"Shut up. You have no right." She curls her hands into fists. "Who was there when you lost it, huh? Did you have someone mock you? Call you crazy bitch and dumbass? Maybe you just feel like you owe me because of the damn party. Maybe you thought if you helped me, you wouldn't feel so guilty. Well, fuck you, Nathan. Fuck you." She slams a hand on the windshield, on his side mirror, and wavers before trying to shove him aside.

He sways again beside her but doesn't step back. He grabs her hand instead, stilling it. She can feel his heartbeat stuttering beneath her palm before he pushes it away. "Don't you fucking touch me. You're fucking delusional, Caulfield. And not just because you can't accept your little friend isn't real. But you don't want to accept it's not real. You don't want anyone to help you. You just want to wallow in your misery until you finally snap and go back to your little world. So, no. I'm done."

He walks past her, kicking leaves in her direction as he reaches for the door.

Max has never been the aggressive one. She was always the mediator, the counselor, the one who distracts everyone with movies and snacks and cringe-worthy jokes in a moment of desperation.

But not here.

Everything is cranked at maximum volume now—static, blood, her own voice all crowding her head. She just wants everything to fall in place, to fall silent, to fall into familiarity.

 _Hallucinations. Visualizations. Paranoia. A few bouts of...aggression._ Dr. Adams' words from the hospital float back to her.

 _I'm not that Max,_ she reminds herself. _None of this is me._

It doesn't make anything in her head fall quieter.

Her hands feel electric at her side. "She's real. And I'm going to prove it. I'll fucking drive to Oregon and find her. I'll raid every corner of Arcadia Bay. I'll drive into the damn water if I think she's there." She grabs fistfuls of leaves and throws them at the windshield.

Nathan stares at her for a moment before wrenching open the door and getting inside. "Get in the truck."

"What?" she chokes out.

"The sun's about to set. I'm not leaving your ass out here at night. You'll scare the muggers into shooting you."

She pauses, glancing at the reddening sky and the few people who have stopped to gawk at them. "Good. I dare them to," she mutters as she gets into the truck.

Nathan rolls his eyes and starts the truck. "Get it in your head, Max. She's not that person anymore. People grow up. They change," he says after they pull onto the road.

"Not everyone," she says.

"Yeah, well, good fucking lucking, then. Just don't expect me to salvage the wreckage."

The only sound between them is the slam of her door when they reach her house. She doesn't even look behind her as he peels away.

 _You don't need him,_ she tells herself. It doesn't make the silence any more comforting.

* * *

"Max, are you up?"

Max cracks open one eye. Her entire face feels as if it's been rubbed with sandpaper. She groans softly and fumbles for her phone, trying to shut off her alarm, but it's already silent. She sits up with a frown, the time that glaring up at her a whole hour later than usual.

Fragments from the previous night slip in and out of focus. Doing homework at the park. Talking about Chloe. The fight with Nathan. She can still feel the faint trace of anger through her blood, warm and hazy.

 _Did you really think he could believe you?_

She groans and pulls her pillow over her head.

"You're going to be late to school," her mother chides from the hallway.

"Shit," Max mumbles, as she reaches for the pants she'd shucked off at the foot of her bed. There's barely time to run a comb through her hair and grab a muffin before chasing after her mom.

"I can't be late today. I've got a meeting at the bank," Vanessa says, an apology at the corners of her mouth.

"Yeah, it's okay." Max slides in beside her, but her fingers can't seem to snap the seat belt into place.

"Rough night?" Her mother's eyebrow is cocked in half-amusement, half-concern, and Max knows she won't push the sarcasm. Not like she used to.

"Couldn't sleep," Max mumbles. She'd spent too many hours tossing and turning, angry at Nathan, angry at herself. Trying to formulate a plan for finding Chloe. All she has is one address and an endless list of google searches that lead to nothing.

 _Did you really think you could find her?_

She sighs when the seat belt finally clicks.

"Want to take half the day off? Maybe get some ice cream, watch a movie, take a nap?" Vanessa's lips twitch into a more hesitant smile.

"I'm still behind on homework," Max says, but her eyes have already slipped closed at the mention of a nap.

"Sometimes," Vanessa says, pausing on the word, "it's good to take mental health days, too. Even just for a couple of hours. You can still catch up on homework."

"You've been talking to Doctor White, haven't you?" Max asks, her eyes still closed.

"It's been a while since we've stayed home and put on a movie. I kind of miss the days where you'd ask to watch Fern Gully on repeat."

Max rubs at her face and forces a smile. "I'll let you know," she says and lets the rumble of the car lull her into a daze.

* * *

It almost feels as if she's stepped into the original timeline, Max thinks, as Nathan strolls past her in the hallway. She tries not to sneak glances at him in class, burying her head in her textbook. It doesn't matter though because her gaze trails over to him regardless. He stares stoically ahead as he sits aisles away from her, his eyes fixated on some point on the wall or whiteboard. His hand lays limp on his desk, not even bothering to take notes, even though his notebook sits open in front of him. He doesn't even acknowledge her.

 _You did this,_ she tells herself, doodling at the side of her own notebook. _You didn't want his guilt, so you pushed him away._

 _He was an ass anyway,_ she reasons. Her pen scratches the desk through the hole she's worked through the paper. _You're better off without him._

 _Now you're no one again._ She doesn't know where this voice comes from but she pushes it away. It's ridiculous. She has Kate. She has Warren. Maybe not as who they once were, but she's not completely alone.

She'll have Chloe.

 _Who are you fooling, Max? Look at the mess you made. How long till you push everyone away again?_

 _Just let it go._

But she's never been good at letting things go.

She catches Nathan after class, grabbing hold of his jacket to stop him.

He pauses, tilting back into her grasp before turning. "I can't," he says, tugging her fingers free. "Just fuck off." Then he marches past her once again.

She stares at his back as he rounds the corner, out of sight. The bomb has finally set off and she's staring at the aftermath, the shrapnel that won't fit back together. She had been waiting for it, but now that it's happened, she can't do anything but shuffle her bag to her other side and walk to class, as if nothing has happened.

 _I have to find Chloe._

It's the only thing that keeps her mind silent.

* * *

"Okay, so then x equals…" The girl beside her pauses, scrunching up her brow. Max can't remember her name. She's sat next to her three times now, has heard it passed from conversation to conversation, but it doesn't stick in her head. It's not someone she'd known before, so her brain seems to have tossed it aside. "I think I just moved on to the next equation."

"No, you were right the first time," Kate says, her face nearly pressed into her notebook as she writes.

"You guys are still on problem five?" Warren asks. He pauses his own scribbling to glance over at Kate's.

"See, I was on six. I knew I had it mixed up," the girl groans. Sam—the name hits Max. Or Tara. Or maybe Lauren. "I'm trying to focus on too many things."

Kate offers a sympathetic smile and fishes her water bottle from her backpack. "Just take it slow," she advises. "What about you, Max?" She frowns when she glances over at Max's paper, which is blank aside from the date and her name scrawled upon the top.

"Sorry, I'm having problems focusing, too." She writes down the number for the first equation and pauses again, the numbers swimming before her. Her brain is completely exhausted but she feels slightly on edge, her muscles tense and tingling.

 _I didn't take my meds,_ she realizes as her pencil slips from her hand.

Warren bends down to grab it, pausing again as he examines her expression. "Rough night?"

"That's exactly what my mom asked me earlier," Max groans. She lays her head against the table, just so she can't see his eyes trying to work through her. "Do you guys think I run marathons all night or something?"

"As long as you get some sleep," Warren says with a slight smile.

"Easier said than done," Max grumbles.

The library door slams open behind her, causing her to jerk her head upwards.

Nathan barrels through, pausing when he catches sight of Max. He scowls and marches past her to the front desk.

"What was that about?" Warren asks.

"Nothing," Max answers, laying her head back on the table. It meets with a slight _thump_ and she can feel Warren's knee bump against hers in surprise.

He frowns and shifts his chair so that it blocks her view of Nathan.

She can still hear Nathan arguing with the librarian, though, his voice raising as she tries to cut through his words with a repetitive _shhshhshh_.

"You can nap here if you want," Warren tells her. "I won't say anything."

"Don't tell me you're going to do her homework," says the girl whose name Max can't remember.

"Please. Have I ever stooped to that level?" Warren snorts.

Kate scoffs. "What about that time—"

"Quiet, you. I meant recently. I refuse to be anyone's academic servant." He shoots Kate a warning glance. "Besides, I'm tutoring Max after school today anyway. We can catch up on it then."

"Right," Max mumbles into her algebra book. Her eyes have fallen shut again.

Warren chuckles but it sounds more like a cough.

"I think I might just go home," Max continues. "My head is—" She winces when she hears Nathan slam something onto the front desk. Her legs feel tied around her chair legs and she can't seem to scoot her chair back.

Warren's frown deepens as he pushes her chair back with her foot.

"Thanks," Max says, gathering her things.

"Let me walk you to the nurse," he says and slings her bag over his shoulder.

"I think I can handle it," she replies.

He quickly grabs her shoulders, redirecting her from nearly crashing into the door. They both freeze when Nathan storms past them, pausing as he reaches the door.

Warren lets his hands drop slowly.

Max feels her face glow bright red but she can't will herself to say anything. There is too much and not enough and it all sticks to the roof of her mouth.

Nathan sputters something under his breath and pushes the door open. He lets it slam closed behind him, rattling in the door frame.

"Yeah, that looks like nothing," Warren mutters but Max pushes past him. She doesn't look back to see if he follows.

* * *

"Max?"

Max blinks up to the blue screen on the TV and the afghan tangled around her legs. She doesn't remember falling asleep but it must have been during the movie. The ice cream carton behind her crinkles as she pushes herself off the sofa.

The love seat is empty across from her, the afternoon sun still blinding in the window above it. "Did my mom leave?" Her voice feels too raspy and she clears her throat.

"She's in the front yard, trimming bushes," Warren replies. He stands next to her, pulling away the afghan still wrapped around her legs.

"My books are in my room." She yawns as she gestures upstairs.

Warren nods slowly. "You sure you want to do this? I don't mind rescheduling. I mean, we've got the weekend."

"I'm just tired," Max says and forces another yawn to prove her point.

He follows her upstairs, his steps much more steady than hers. She has to lean against the railing to keep from toppling over.

"Are you okay?" Warren asks.

"Fine," Max says, scowling at her closed bedroom door. She doesn't remember shutting it before school and her hand keeps fumbling over the doorknob.

Warren reaches over her and turns the knob.

Max startles backwards, dropping her books.

"You sure about that?" He gathers the books together, but refuses to hand them over when she reaches for them. He sets them on her desk instead.

"Why wouldn't I be?" She collapses onto her bed spread-eagled and burrows underneath her pillows.

"You haven't been hanging out with Nathan lately," he points out.

"No." She drags the word out, muffled by the pillows. "I've been busy."

"Busy," Warren repeats, frowning. "Is that what you're calling it?"

She shrugs in response.

"Kate says you haven't been over to her place much either." She hears the floorboards creak as he walks over, feels the pressure on her mattress as he sits beside her.

She can't very tell him it's because she's been plotting out her trip to find Chloe. If she can hitchhike part of the way, she thinks she can swing the rest of the expenses. In the other timeline, her parents had a jar of twenties stashed away in their closet that they'd been saving for years. She can almost bet that there's a version of it here as well.

She shrugs again.

It's better to keep her mind occupied on something.

"I heard you got an A on your history test. Congrats," Warren tries instead.

Vanessa had put Max's essay on the fridge, complete with the same pineapple magnet of her younger days. Many a spelling test had been placed on the fridge with that magnet and she'd felt a strange sense of pride in remembering that.

Still, she had groaned when she saw it plastered for everyone to see.

"You hush," Vanessa had scolded. "This is just a reminder that you're back on track. A gentle push to keep you going."

Max thinks she needs more than a gentle push, but she'd smiled anyway.

She lowers a pillow to catch the concern lining Warren's face. Her own softens into a smile. "Well, I had a good tutor," she admits.

He tips an imaginary hat and gives a bow. "Anytime, madam."

She shoves him playfully and he pulls the pillows away from her.

"I think what you need is some time out. Let's celebrate," he says as he tosses the pillows onto the floor. "Go out and get dinner. Throw some confetti and blow off some steam."

It's tempting. The itch in her muscles longs for movement even if her brain feels shut down.

 _Shit, my meds._

She reaches for the bottle on her nightstand. She has been dreaming of Joyce's cheeseburgers since she'd left the hospital and her mouth waters at the thought alone. "Let's go to Two Whales," she suggests.

She wishes she could take back the words as soon as they slip free. Her hand falls empty to her side.

"Is that new?" Warren asks, tilting his head as if trying to recall it.

"Never mind," she mutters and slides off her bed.

Warren frowns at her sudden lapse of silence.

The birds sound too loud outside her window and she slams the open window pane down. "Can we stay in? Mom keeps the number for the pizza guy on the fridge. We could order some."

"Yeah, sure. I'll just get started on my chemistry." He digs through his bag for the right book, looking slightly disappointed.

"Yeah, you can have that." She attempts a smile.

"Don't you want to know how to turn straw into gold?" He winks and just like that, his disappointment is tucked away.

"Not if it involves studying chemical formulas. Algebra's hard enough."

"Well, you know, gold is a good friend of mine. We go out for drinks sometimes. He doesn't get along so well with silver though."

"Warren, no," she warns, leaving him to laugh behind her.

As she heads downstairs, she can hear his voice trailing behind her, "The last time we met up in a bar, silver told gold, 'AU, get outta here!'"

"Shut up," she groans, but it's not enough to hide the sad smile that lingers on her face. She's glad he can't see it.

When she returns with the pizza brochure and her phone in hand, Warren pats the spot on her bed beside him. She tosses him the box of cookies she's brought up as well.

"You are Wonder Woman," he says, ripping into the box. "How's Dante going?" He spits bits of cookies as he speaks.

"Done. Thanks for letting me borrow your book." She chews her own cookie much slower. It makes her feel slightly more awake. "I have to warn you, though, that you're horrible at taking notes. I couldn't even read the section you wrote on lust. I could barely read the original text." She fishes the book from the pile of texts on her desk and hands it to him.

"Sorry," he says, cheeks flush. "I had kinda rambled there and it wasn't really going to benefit you, so I just crossed it out."

"Now you have me wondering what you rambled about," she teases.

His cheeks flush darker. "Nothing important, I promise." He stuffs the book into his bag, knocking another one loose. The notebook flops open on the floor between them, a rainbow of scribbles.

"Whoa, what's this?" Max asks, scooping up the notebook before Warren can.

"Notes," Warren says, loud enough to cause her to jump. He tugs the book free and she catches a crudely drawn doodle of a corpse. He clears his throat. "For the game I'm making."

"So what's the secret?" She smirks. There had been times where they'd dissected game plots for hours, sometimes continuing over in texts. She could do with that distraction again. "You know I love a good horror game."

Warren's brows crinkle in thought before he leans towards her. A grin spreads across his face. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

Her smile falls a notch, a flash of her dream running through her mind, but she shrugs. "But then I could star in your game as a lovely but feisty zombie. So it's a win-win."

"Tempting offer, Miss Caulfield, but I'm afraid you'll have to wait till the beta. If I ever get that far.

"Do I get a premise, at least?"

He shakes his head, stuffing another cookie in his mouth. "So algebra's not going so well?" he asks instead, gesturing again to the space next to him.

"I'm trying. One thing at a time. I've got a lot of crap on my mind." She ignores his gesture and pulls up her desk chair, dropping her history book in her lap.

He raises an eyebrow, scrutinizing the space between them, but shrugs, scooting closer. "You know, I'm open to interpretive dance or hand puppets if you find that more interesting," he replies. "Though I gotta admit, I thought you were above such practices."

"I don't really see you as an interpretive dancer," she says.

"What if I juggled swords? I could teach algebra with swords."

She leans back as he leans forward in full dramatic effect, his arms in full pantomime.

"You're such a nerd," she says, laughing. "I don't think I trust you with a weapon. You're liable to poke your eye out or something."

His eyes light up at her laughter and he smiles. "How do you know? I could have some pretty awesome moves."

The smile falls quickly from her face because he's right. She _doesn't_ know. "Hey, before...well, before I was in the hospital, did we talk at all?" she asks quietly.

His smile dies as well, replaced by a frown that seems to tick with his train of thought. He focuses on her history book rather than her. "Not really, no. I mean, I wanted to." He blushes and flops down onto her bed. "You weren't an easy person to get close to. You kind of just walked past everyone, like you didn't see them."

"But you saved me," she says bluntly. She hadn't meant to tell him that, but now the words hang too heavily between them.

His gaze flicks up to hers, fidgeting. "You remember that?" he whispers.

"A little."

"You were pretty out of it," he adds, then shakes his head. "I...I didn't know it was that bad. If I did, I would have reached out to you sooner."

"Would you?" she asks, twirling her pencil against her book.

"Yeah, I would have," he says, sighing. "You know, I remember the first time I saw you. First day of freshman year and we crashed into each other at lunch. I spilled jell-o all over you. You turned about the same shade of red and just took off. Maybe I should have tried to say something then."

She lets out a short laugh and shakes her head. "I don't think it would have mattered."

"I think it would have," he replies softly.

She falls silent, studying the comforter between them.

"We had a fight," she finally says, picking at a small hole in the comforter. Her pencil clatters to the floor. "Nathan and me. I just…he thinks I'm avoiding help. I feel like I'm stringing him along."

Warren frowns as he scoots closer. "Why?"

Max shakes her head slowly. "It's complicated."

"I'm good with complicated."

Max stares at him and in the howl of a tornado outside, worlds away, she can still make out his _Of course I believe you._

"What if," she begins, "it isn't all in my head?"

"As opposed to…"

"Time travel?"

Warren's frown deepens. "You mean like the TARDIS whirring across time and space?"

"Not exactly. More like…rewinding time. Changing moments so that a different outcome happens."

"Breaking the first rule of time travel. You aren't playing around here, huh?" A smile creeps at his lips but when Max doesn't match it, he frowns again. He studies her for a moment before speaking, his eyes flickering across her face as if there are answers there she isn't telling him. "This…this is what happened?"

"I saw my best friend get killed. And I had to go back to save her. And when I did…well, things went pretty much to shit."

"So you kept going back?" he asks softly.

"Until I had to go back and…let everything restart."

Warren falls silent, studying her. Max has worked two of her fingers inside the comforter, pulling out some of the cotton inside.

"How many times?" he finally asks.

There's a line of Chloe's eyes staring back at her, all lifeless. "I don't want to think about it," she replies.

"Okay, so," he continues, "how did you end up here?"

"I don't know. I barely remember the funeral. I think I remember heading back to my dorm and…everything's kind of fuzzy. White. Then I woke up in the hospital."

"You think you 'rewound' again?"

Max hesitates. "I don't know. If I did, I don't know where or when I rewound to. I can't find a point where the timelines match up."

"And you still want to go back? Is that it?"

"What's the point of coming here if I can't even find Chloe? I just…I don't know what to do."

"So…let's go find her."

The cotton padding spills from her fingers and onto the floor. "What?"

"I can look up her address and we can track her down, if she's here."

"No, you can't. I already tried. They're not listed."

"You underestimate me, Maximus."

Max pauses, trying to read through his smile. "And if she's not?"

He shrugs. "Then we'll figure something out."

She stares again, the plan clicking into place inside her head. With Warren's car, she wouldn't have to hitchhike. Maybe not use as much of her parents' money, either.

"Max?" Warren prompts when she doesn't reply.

"I'll pay for gas or whatever you need. I'll pay you overtime for tutoring me. Whatever you want," she insists.

He shakes his head but his eyes light up at her last utterance. "I have funds to burn," he says softly.

"Are you sure? I mean, you don't have to do this."

He pulls his laptop from his bag and flips it open. "Operation Chloe is now in progress."

Max watches his brow furrow as he works. His fingers fly over the keys and already she feels miles closer than she'd ever been. "Arcadia Bay," she says when he pauses, "Oregon. That's where we lived."

His fingers stay still. "She's still there."

She pushes away from her chair, scrambling over him to see the screen. "Are you serious?"

"I guess we have a road trip to plan."

"Warren," she says and he pauses again to look up at her. "Thank you."

"Of course," he says, waving aside her words.

She nearly misses it, in the reflection of his screen, the way his smile drops into a frown, the way he studies her far more carefully than the laptop before him. But then it's gone, tucked back into a smile as he glances up at her.


	12. Chapter 12

It's the first Saturday in a long time where Max has left the house. The weekends always feel too long and too daunting and even Kate's house feels like too much effort to make the trek.

But Max woke up with three hours of sleep under her belt and feeling as if she'd had eight. Her veins feel like fire. She paces the room, stuffing things into her backpack as she mutters a list of supplies. Just emergency things—an extra change of clothes, some snacks, her polaroids of Chloe.

Warren thumbs through the pile of books on her desk. He fidgets, shuffling his feet as she flutters about her room, and she figures he's just as nervous as she is.

"Hey, what's this?" he asks, picking up a black leather bound book.

She looks up briefly to see the book in his hand. "It's my dream journal." She has written in it religiously since Dr. White's suggestion, every dream and hallucination she can remember, not because she's afraid she'll forget the details but so she can see in between them. But everything is set in lines before her and nothing more, as if there is something behind a closed door. There's always another closed door.

"Huh," he muses. He turns it over in his hand, curiosity all but written across his face.

She snatches it out of his hand before he can open it. "No way. You don't want to read that. It's pretty gruesome."

"But I love gruesome." A smile flickers on his face, but she doesn't give in.

"Not this kind. This isn't like the stuff in the movies." She thinks again of the woman creature crawling out of her laptop and her hands tighten around the book.

"I don't exactly have a weak constitution," he replies. He reaches for the book but she hides it behind her back, leaning out of reach.

"And these are _thoughts_ inside someone's _head,_ Warren. Completely different."

"You're really not making it any less tempting." But he raises his hands in surrender, an easy smile across his face.

Max narrows her eyes and shakes her head.

He takes one quick step quick towards her, his arm sneaking quickly around her to swipe the book.

But she wiggles out of his grasp and slips the book into her bag, safely out of reach. "Yeah, well you wouldn't show me your notebook, so why should I show you mine? Nope. Maybe one day if you're nice enough, I might share, but that's not today." She forces a smile and it seems to placate him.

He sighs and sits on her bed as she gathers the rest of her things. "Your parents know we're doing this, right?" he asks slowly.

"Uh, well, something like it," she answers, zipping her bag. "I may have said we're doing a project for school and that I'm staying the night at Kate's."

"Max," he warns.

She knows this is a disaster in the making but she shrugs anyway. "Want to bail?" She stares up at him, challenging him. It's not fair, she knows it, and she watches as he swallows and looks away.

"No, let's go," he says. "Before I change my mind."

* * *

"You've got the address in, right?" he asks as soon as they hit the highway.

She holds up her phone to show the map on her screen and he nods. She waits for him to ask her plan, if they're staying there, if they're going to try to beat the sun back.

But he doesn't.

She doesn't tell him either.

She can feel it in the air, his _why?_ that inflates like a balloon between them. She feels that it will burst at any moment. _Why did you tell me? Why not Nathan? Why not Kate?_

She folds her feet under her and digs through her bag, offering him a package of cookies which he declines. _You believed me,_ she wants to say as she toys with the corner of the plastic. _You didn't question me when everyone else would. You didn't tell me to let it go._

But he doesn't ask.

She doesn't tell him either.

Her phone is silent; there are no messages from her parents. There's no _Don't work too hard. Let me know if you need anything. Call me when you're at Kate's._ There's not even an _I love you._

They're trying to give her space, she realizes, but she's not so sure how she feels about it. She almost wishes she'd left her jacket at home just to have a reason to text them.

Her phone bleeps at her, but there's nothing but her home screen staring back at her. She frowns.

"Is your car going to make it?" she asks when the engine starts sputtering a little louder.

"Pretty sure you're in good hands. She hasn't failed me yet." Warren pats the steering wheel and the sputtering dies down a bit after another few miles.

She flips through her photos again, the corners of the polaroids looking even more worn. Outside the window, the roads slowly become more and more unfamiliar.

"Hey." His voice cuts through her thoughts and she turns towards his hesitant smile. "You're miles away without me. You okay?"

"Sorry," she says, turning back towards the window. She's rehearsing what she'll say to Chloe if she finds her.

 _Sorry, I bailed, Chlo._

 _I know it's been five years, but it's just like yesterday, right?_

 _I know it doesn't seem like it, but we were totally still best friends only a few weeks ago._

Max is never going to make it past one word, at this rate.

"If you want to head back, you should tell me now," Warren says. "You know, while we're still in Washington."

"No. I'm okay." Max can still feel his eyes on her but she ignores him.

"I need to get gas." Warren nods towards the closest exit. "Do you want a Coke or something?"

She shakes her head.

He hesitates before pointing behind her. "I think you're sitting on my wallet."

"Oh. Sorry." She scoots up, still staring out the window, and hears him suck in a breath as he reaches behind her to grab it. His hand brushes against her back, startling her into slamming her knees against the glove box. She looks up to see his smile, apologetic, but hinting at something else. Then he blinks and stammers another apology.

She watches him head inside as she tries to bury herself back into planning opening lines.

Nothing even comes to her now.

"God, I really am a mess, aren't I?" she mutters, unfolding her legs. She wonders how different it would be if Nathan had taken her, if there would have been as much nervous energy around her. She wonders if there's anything she could have said to convince him.

The days feel long and strange without him. It's not because she'd become dependent on his company, she reasons, but because she'd gotten used to it. And it catches her off guard, that she'd gotten used to anything here, but she supposes she'll need to if she decides to stay.

 _Please be okay, Chloe. Please be okay._

It's easier to focus on Chloe than Nathan. The hope that flutters around her chest is something much more in reach. With Nathan, she doesn't know where she stands, where she'd ever stood, and it's not hope that seems to sink and cling to her ribs. It's something dull, deep, and desperate. She can't reach for that right now.

Her foot brushes past something and her shoelace catches on it. She bends down to find the spiral notebook Warren had brought last week, the one that held his secret game.

Glancing towards the line winding around the cash register, she doesn't spot Warren, and she's pulled the notebook into her lap without even realizing she's done it.

 _Good job, Max. Snoop through his things when you wouldn't even let him look at yours. You're such an awesome friend._

She winces and pushes the voice aside, flipping open the book to lines of code he'd written, character and weapon class ideas, and a skeleton of a story outline.

It wasn't a zombie game.

The main character was a lonely man who had trouble dating. The player watched as he struggled with date after date, only to return home alone. But then the player discovered the women never returned home either. Reports would circulate, weeks later, of them reappearing—or pieces of them reappearing. A leg here, an arm there. Sometimes the pieces could be identified, sometimes not. Sometimes the women were never found.

By the end of the game, it's revealed that the main character was using the pieces to reconstruct his deceased girlfriend.

It's the kind of game she could imagine Warren playing, one she might even pick up to try to discover the plot twist.

But when she flipped to the page that detailed the disfigured girlfriend, she let the book drop from her lap.

The girlfriend was her—or a heavily fictionalized version of her. Her hair, her freckles. And below the picture Warren had scribbled how the main character had killed her; how, in his grief and guilt, he'd set out to fix her.

Warren isn't an artist; even his doodles could be bested by a ten-year-old, but the twisted corpse that glares up at her from beside his notes makes her blood run cold. A slash lined the torso—right through the middle; the arms were bent at odd angles.

She flips the book closed and stuffs it back in its original spot.

 _It's just a game. It doesn't mean anything_ , she thinks. She's seen interviews where game creators find inspiration in the strangest of places. A stranger walking down the street and yelling at the passersby. A man studying the crowd behind a shadow of trees. A woman pushing an empty stroller. It doesn't mean Warren wants her gutted and disfigured.

She lets out a shaky breath, nearly yelping when Warren opens his door.

"I'll pay you back," she rushes to say and for a second, he looks confused. "The gas money, food money, or whatever. I'll reimburse you."

"No. No, I told you. It's okay."

"Warren, that's a lot of money—"

"I said it's okay." He seems more on guard than usual and Max immediately falls quiet.

He hands her a Coke that she didn't ask for and she sets it aside wordlessly.

He fiddles with the radio and when they're greeted with nothing but static, station after station, he flicks it back off with a sigh. "All right, you wanna pay me back? Tell me what's in the journal." He shoots her a wary look, as if he's the one challenging her now.

"Well, that's not—" She swallows thickly. "Why do you want to know so badly?"

"You said you had some messed up dreams. I want to know what they are. I want to know what I'm up against. How I can help. I want to know why we're doing this."

There it is, the _why,_ and the burst is so sharp in her head that it makes her jump. She drums her fingers against the journal's spine. "You're not up against anything."

"Then why write them down? Why worry about them at all?"

"Because," she says slowly. She feels as if time is slowing down on her again, swallowing her. She can hear the rumble of the car moving, the wind against the window, but she can't feel herself moving forward. "Because I feel like they'll tell me what I'm missing." She doesn't tell him why. She doesn't tell him how many times she's broken down already. She doesn't tell him any of the things she'd told Nathan or has wanted to tell him.

Instead, she stares forward, watching the skyscrapers slowly fade into patches of fields around them.

He flaps a hand at her, waiting for her to continue.

"Pull over," she instructs flatly. Maybe if he sees this version of himself, it will make him reconsider his own creation. Maybe she's reading entirely too much into this.

He pulls into a burger joint where he trades her a cheeseburger for her journal. He sets the basket of fries they're sharing between them. "I guess you want to see my notebook then, huh?"

"No," she says, loud enough to make both of them jump. "I mean, I want it to be on your own terms, not because you think you have to."

He gives her an odd glance, righting the basket she'd knocked over. "You read it."

She bows her head to hide the blush on her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I was curious. I thought…I don't know. Maybe there were answers there."

"In my game? What are you looking for, exactly? How many ways to chop off a leg?" Max winces and his bewildered smile falls flat. "What?"

"You put me in there. I was the dead girlfriend."

"What?" Warren repeats and this time, he's the one to knock over the fry basket.

"Mousy girl with freckles; 'her blue eyes stared unseeing into the darkness.' I mean, it's me, right?"

"No," he says slowly, picking up fallen fries again. "I gave Tara a pretty generic design. She could be anyone. I made it up."

The blush on Max's cheeks flare darker. "You're serious."

"It's just a game, Max. No worse than any of the ones we've played before."

"I…" She trails off, looking at journal beside him. "Then why didn't you want to show it to me?"

He follows her gaze and sighs. "Because I knew this would happen. You're so on edge lately. I don't want to be the one to set you off."

"You're not… I mean, I can handle it."

"Okay," he says softly, flipping the journal open.

She picks at the burger, pulling the bun into tiny pieces and scattering them around her wrapper. Her stomach twists itself into knots. Watching Warren read makes her feel as if she's flipped her body inside-out, that all of her veins and muscles, all of her bones, are on display. She pulls the hood of her jacket over her face, blocking out his reaction, his hands flipping through words that had only existed in her mind, her eyes. Now they're real, grasped in his fingers as he mumbles them aloud.

When he finishes, he lets the journal drop from his hand into the booth next to him. "Shit, Max," he says hoarsely and she just nods. "What...what do you think this is trying to tell you, exactly?"

"I don't know," she admits and motions for the book, which she slips back into her bag. "But do you think there's something there? Maybe a warning for another storm? Or a clue on how to get back?"

"Uh, maybe." He furrows his brow. "I don't even know where to begin, though."

"My therapist said dreams can sometimes tell you what your conscious mind isn't really grasping."

"Yeah, but you've been through a lot, Max. There's a lot to dig through. Any of this or none of this could mean anything."

"So you don't believe me," she says rather than asks.

His brow furrows more. "I didn't say that."

"Nathan said—"

"I said I didn't say that," he interrupts. He reaches for a handful of fries and stuffs a couple into his mouth. "Besides, you're not dreaming of Nathan. So who's the expert here?"

She rolls her eyes. "That doesn't make you an expert."

"What's the last thing you remember from here? Before the hospital and everything?"

"Maybe the roof thing. Bits and pieces, really. It's hard to tell what parts are memories and what are dreams, sometimes."

"So, maybe that's where you need to focus. Maybe that's where your brain's trying to connect the last two strands of your timelines."

"But the…" She trails off, gesturing towards him with a frown. "The nightmares with you…"

"If the roof is the last thing you remember, then I'd be the last person you remembered," he replies softly. "I'm just the messenger, right?" He pushes the basket of fries towards her but she shakes her head.

"Right," she echoes. She thinks of telling him goodbye in the diner before rewinding back to the party.

She thinks of Warren's arms grounding her as she tries to move, to stand up on the roof.

 _I can't stay vertical._

"You don't think so?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "You have another idea for why you're dreaming of me?" He smirks but when she doesn't smile back, it fades away. "It probably doesn't mean anything, but I'll look into researching it, if you want."

"Thanks," she says, pulling her hood tighter over her face. Dissecting the dreams has brought the dull headache back, the vertigo of rushing wind as she's falling. Inside her hood, everything feels slightly smaller, more graspable.

Her stomach knots itself tighter, sending a wave of nausea upwards.

"I'm going to the bathroom." She stands and turns towards the worn sign pointing towards the restrooms.

"Max, wait," he says, grabbing hold of her arm. He rises to his feet as well. "You don't really think it means anything, right?"

She shrugs, looking down so that the hood blocks her eyes, so that all she can see are his shoes.

"Max." He pulls gently on her hood, tugging it away and her gaze flicks back towards his. "You know I'd never do anything like that."

"I know," she says and steps around him towards the restroom, trying to ignore the pain that pulses at the back of her head.

It takes her a couple of tries to turn the water on and splash water against her face. The mirror in front of her is murky, some of the glass chipped away so that there's only the black of the backing beneath. She stares at the Max that stares back at her, her face as blank as the blackness chipped through the mirror. She presses her palms against her face, looking for something different—more freckles lined across her nose, lighter hair, a smudge of insomnia under her eyes. She can still see the hairline of a scar below her ear where she'd fallen off the porch when she was fourteen. She can't tell where the differences begin anymore.

The door creaks open and when someone slips into the stall behind her, she hears the door bang twice—one solid and one an echo that carries on long after the door has shut. For a moment, she can see graffiti on the walls, a smudge of a memory, and then it's gone.

She leans against the mirror, her breath crowding against the glass, fading, then crowding again. There's a trickle of blood from her nose. She's losing it. She can feel it, the grains of reality shifting and merging and falling apart again. She wonders if this is what happened the first time. She wonders if there ever was a first time.

The nausea hits her again and she races to the bathroom stall. Her entire body feels lit up with energy again, tension knotted in every muscle and joint. She tries to shake them loose and eventually it eases down enough that she can leave.

When she slides back into the booth, Warren has polished off the rest of the fries and is stacking the sugar packets next to him into a trembling pyramid.

One of the packets drops from his fingers. "Whoa, you okay? Your face is flushed."

"It was hot in the bathroom." She almost winces at the excuse.

Warren's tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek. "You didn't eat." He points to her untouched burger.

She shrugs. "I ate too many cookies in the car." She feels him staring at her, picking away at her shield. "Don't worry, I can save it for later." She smiles at him through the pyramid. The packets cut away the frown she knows he's wearing.

She pulls her phone close, her smile falling. Even though she'd charged it before heading out, the battery is already at fifty percent. She texts Kate and her fingers hover over Nathan's name. She stills long enough that Warren reaches around the pyramid to tug her phone away, setting it between them gently.

"Don't," he says.

"I just..." She trails off when she sees him peering at her through the pyramid.

"Are you sure you can do this?"

She shakes her head. "I'm not backing out."

"It's okay if you want to."

"I'm not backing out," she repeats. "You said we could find her."

"I did." He nods. "But when we do?"

"I don't know," she says softly.

He glances down at his phone. "We still have a couple of hours on the road. Plenty of time to figure it out."

She stares at the few sugar packets that hadn't made it into the pyramid. "I found a notebook at home, one full of drawings I'd made of Chloe. When we were kids and when..." _When_ _I hallucinated her._ "When I was in the other timeline. It's like the only evidence I can find that I was there. I just feel like, I can flip through it and… she puts everything back together. I feel like she can fill in the holes if I can just find her."

Warren nods slowly. She can feel his eyes on her, studying her, trying to dig in beneath her words.

"I'm sorry for dragging you through this. I just…I didn't know who else to ask."

"You shouldn't feel that way," he replies. He reaches for her hand and she pulls away, knocking the sugar packets down around them.

"Okay," he says, eyes wide.

"Sorry, you just…" She trails off into a frown.

He looks away, nodding. "Don't worry about it." He scoops up the sugar packets and dumps them into the fry basket. "We should head out." He holds the door open for her, looking away when she tries to meet his eyes. The door jangles shut behind them, as loud as if it had been a siren shrieking in her head.

They fall into silence, save for the radio that burbles in and out of reception and Max's knee that bumps rigidly against her door, beating time into her thoughts. But even that tapers off and her eyes grow heavy again.

 _What if she's not there?_ _What if Warren's wrong?_

The questions creep back into her thoughts and she tries to swat them away. She can't think about that now. Her hand feels disconnected from her again, as if there's plastic instead of skin meeting her arm. She keeps it held out, watching it tremble slowly until sleep finally takes over.

* * *

"Max."

Max jerks awake at the sound of Warren's voice. It was still morning when she had started to doze off, but the sky is dark outside the window now.

"Where are we?" she asks, leaning forward to peer out the window. She can't even see light from passing street lamps. She cranes her neck to find the moon, but even that is dark, hidden by clouds, maybe. There's a small patch of light behind them, but she can't pinpoint the source.

Warren doesn't reply. She can see the shadow of his hand as he switches gears.

"Warren?"

He turns slowly, the light behind them highlighting all the wrong shadows on him. The only thing that greets her is a wide smile spanning the width of his face. No eyes, no nose. Almost entirely featureless. Except for the smile.

Max shrieks and unclips the seat belt, determined to jump out of the car. But when she reaches for the door handle, it's not there. She fumbles in empty space beside her now, and hears the drone of someone speaking.

"Alfred Hitchcock famously called film, 'little pieces of time,' but he could be talking about photography, as he likely was. These pieces of time can frame us in our glory and our sorrow; from light to shadow; from color to chiaroscuro."

Max sits up so fast, she feels the muscles in her neck strain in protest. She's no longer in Warren's car, even though she can still hear the static of the radio, like an afterthought at the back of her mind.

Jefferson stands before her, in mid-lecture.

 _Did I finally do it?_ she thinks in a panic. She feels it pulse through her body like fire. _I rewound time?_ She feels the grin on her face, wide enough to make her cheeks hurt.

 _Chloe…_

Her grin falters, but it's too late to question herself. _If this is the original timeline, it has to be more stable. I can save Chloe here._

 _How are you going to keep it that way?_

The grin has completely vanished now.

 _Plan. I need a plan._ She tries to fish her phone from her pocket, but comes up empty. She shuffles through her things on her desk, but her phone isn't there either. Her pencil rolls from her desk and clatters to the ground.

Jefferson pauses, his eyes snapping towards hers. "Max," he begins and Max jerks her chair backwards. "Pay attention. You're not focusing."

She opens her mouth to protest, but something about his words seem off. Her mouth closes into a frown as he stares back at her. He points to the board behind him, a slow gesture that makes the words seem to swim before her eyes. Black ink. Some kind of mathematical equation. _Is that Warren's handwriting?_ she thinks, squinting at the board. All she can make out is the giant question mark on the other side of the equation. And something moving.

"Focus, Max." Jefferson says, the words twisting, his voice distorting.

She finds herself walking up to him, up to the board. The desks before her are empty, as if the class had left.

 _No, it's like they were never there to begin with._

She digs her heels into the floor, but all it does it make her steps heavier.

The words on the board are not what's moving. It's something behind them, beneath them, and she can make out a hand. She reaches for it at the same time the hand reaches for her, breaking through the board. A face stares back at her—dark circles underneath the eyes, hollowed cheeks, a mouth that looks as if it hasn't smiled in years.

"Nathan," she breathes. "I'm so…I'm sorry." Her hand falls through his and brushes against the board. _I'll save you, too. I'll save everyone this time. Somehow._

Nathan leans towards her touch, but then his face contorts as he lets out a scream.

She backs away quickly, into a desk that squeaks loudly in protest.

"Looking for this?" Warren says from the other side of the desk. His face is normal, but there's no smile at his lips, no humor in his tone. He's slouched in the chair, feet propped onto the surface next to him as he holds out her phone. The screen is green and flashing, the text scrolling by too quickly for her to catch.

"Shouldn't leave your phone out. It's too easy to mess with."

She reaches for the phone and he drops it onto the desk. The screen is blank now, dead. "What—"

"You're too easy, Max."

Max sees movement at the corner of her eye and jumps aside. The woman creature stands beside him, wearing the same smile he'd had before. The ragged mop of her hair hides her featureless face.

"Warren," she tries to warn, staring at the creature.

"Doesn't matter. There's nothing left," he says, ignoring her. He gestures behind him, where the walls have faded into darkness.

The creature steps closer, hands extended before her in claws.

"What are you gonna do, Max?" There's a flash of metal between his hands and Max feels her eyes drawn to it. He twirls the knife lazily. "Tick, tock." The sound of a clock echoes like footsteps behind her and it screeches to a halt.

Flames lick at the wall and floor, engulfing the room in heat. Max backs into the board, her hands dropping to her side like stones. Then she screams, her voice raw, her breath ragged, and the sound slices through the air.

* * *

The car swerves for a moment before Warren rights it and Max's wide eyes meet his.

"What is it? What's going on?" he asks.

She screams again and Warren's elbow hits the horn, blaring it loudly. He pulls the car over. It jerks hard enough to slam Max's head against the seat.

"It's okay, it's okay," he says when she doesn't reply, undoing his seat belt and reaching for her.

She shrinks back against the car door, clinging to her own seat belt. Daylight surrounding her. Warren's face completely normal. No knife. "No. No, you…you stay," she finally says.

"I don't…was it another dream?" he asks cautiously.

"I don't know." She keeps her eyes trained on the floor mat beneath her, brushing her shoe against the worn fabric. "I think I…rewound. But everything was wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Like a nightmare," she whispers, recalling the original timeline. She feels the duct tape against her wrists again, the flash of Warren, Chloe, Nathan, and Victoria mocking her. So long ago, it feels like a memory from someone else. A memory removed.

Warren fumbles for the console between them, rooting around for something. He tosses an old phone charger out, a rubber band, and settles for a granola bar that he holds out hesitantly. "I don't know," he confesses when she blinks down at it. "It seemed like it might help."

"I…" Max trails off and draws her knees up into the seat. She reaches for her bag beneath her, and like Warren, she fumbles through it, not sure what's she looking for, but trying to find _something._

The pill bottle falls from her bag, rattling as it hits the floor. More full than it should be.

"I forgot my meds again," she says, as if she's forgotten her shoes, as if she's reminding someone else that they've forgotten their shoes.

"What?" Warren asks. There's a flash of metal that makes her flinch, but it's only the wrapper from the granola bar. "Are you okay? Should I be calling 911 or something?"

Max lets out a shaky breath. "No, it's not like that. I'm only off by a couple of days." It's the first of the dreams in a long time and Max eyes the bottle in her hand. _What did you let out?_ she thinks. She pauses for a moment before she opens the bottle and shakes one of the pills out.

Warren watches her and she tries to shake the residual panic aside. Her hands are still trembling when she pulls out her phone to check the time. The screen flashes green for a second before fading back to her normal background. Her fingers feel numb again.

"Warren," she begins. Her voice sounds off and his brow furrows in reply. It feels too easy suddenly—the trip, finding Chloe, being around him in general.

 _It's always been like this, though. That's why you guys became friends so quickly in the first timeline._

She remembers how easy his fingers flew over his keyboard, grabbing Chloe's address as if it was right in front of him.

"How did you find Chloe's address? On my computer?"

 _You're just being paranoid,_ she tells herself. _He's always been good with a computer, always been good at finding things._

Warren exhales a laugh before taking a bite of the granola bar. "Oh, come on. A magician never reveals his secrets, right?" His smile is tight and he looks away.

"Warren." The paranoia burns into panic now.

His eyes flick back towards her and he squirms in his seat. "It's not that hard if you know where to look."

"But how? You didn't even know her last name." She toys with the phone in her lap, sending it flipping over and over her hands. It gives her something else to focus on besides her voice, his face.

His eyes follow hers and settle on her phone. "She's listed on your contacts."

"On my phone," she clarifies. "So you just go snooping through people's phones now."

He lets out another breathy laugh. "Didn't you just go through my notebook an hour ago? Come on, I was worried. I'm sorry. I was just trying to help."

"You could have tried to talk to me like everyone else."

"You don't talk to anyone." The apology falls from his voice, as well as the tight smile.

Her mouth falls slightly open and her phone falls to the floorboard.

He holds his hands up in surrender. "It was for one second. I'm sorry. I had good intentions, I swear." He falls into silence, studying her. "Max, you're shaking." He leans towards her again, one hand fumbling behind him in the backseat.

She jerks back once more, slamming her head against the window.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm just—look." He points to his jacket in the seat behind him. "Put that on."

She shakes her head. "I'm not cold. I'm just…"

He grabs the jacket anyway and draws it across her lap. "What is it? The nightmare?"

Now she lets out a laugh, feeling slightly ridiculous. _He didn't do anything to your phone, dumbass. It's just a bad dream. You didn't take your meds for a couple of days so things got thrown off._

"Don't do it again," she whispers then clears her throat. "Let's just go."

"Yeah, whatever you say." He frowns as he starts the car back up again and pulls back onto the highway.

They're close to Chloe's house. The roads are starting to look familiar again. She would rather take that than the image of Warren twirling a knife and Nathan screaming behind a whiteboard.

* * *

"Is this it?" Warren asks, peering over at the map on Max's phone. She looks over as well to make sure she'd typed it in correctly. But her skepticism grows tenfold when the house they're driving towards looks nothing like she remembers. It's a bright yellow with wildflowers growing under the front windows. Three cars are parked across from it. None of them look like Chloe's truck.

"It could be," she considers, practically falling out of the car as she rushes out. She needs the space between them. "It's been a long time since I've been here. Maybe a lot has changed."

She walks tentatively towards the house, Warren behind her. She doesn't know what she expects when she knocks on the door. An elderly woman telling her she has the wrong place. No answer at all. She bites her lip and pushes the thoughts away.

She hears someone yell from inside and the door is jerked open. The girl standing in front of her doesn't have blue hair nor does she sport ripped jeans under her boots. The face that greets Max though feels miles away and standing before her all at once. Chloe Price cocks an eyebrow high as she leans against the door.


	13. Chapter 13

"You're a little old to be selling girl scout cookies," Chloe says dryly, still leaning against the door frame. Her hair falls smoothly behind her back. She looks almost exactly as the Chloe from her photos, except older. Almost, that is, except for the wariness in her eyes, her frown, the arms across her chest. That's the Chloe Max remembers from the other timeline.

Warren scoffs but Chloe doesn't retract her statement. She merely watches them as she waits for them to announce their appearance. "Can I help you?" she adds when no one speaks. "Because I'm not standing here all day."

Warren elbows Max and she lets out a squeak.

"I, uh, hi," she finally says. "It's Max."

Chloe simply stares at her as her words sink in. Then the recognition hits her and her eyes widen. "Max?"

Max smiles weakly and nods.

But Chloe doesn't return her smile. Instead she steps back, slowly. "You've got to be kidding me," she says and closes the door without further warning.

For a moment, Max just stands on the front porch, staring at the door in her face, trying to process what had just happened.

"Uh, Max?" Warren shifts his feet, as if he doesn't know if they should wait or head back to the car.

Max ignores him and knocks on the door, then pounds and pounds when no one answers. "Chloe, come on," she yells. She presses her face against the door. "I drove all the way from Seattle. Can you just give me one minute? One minute and you can slam the door in my face again."

There's nothing but silence that answers her. She slams one last half-hearted knock on the door.

"Come on." Warren takes her by the shoulders and leads her back to the car.

"Goddamnit, why did I think it would be this easy?" she mutters. But she didn't, not really. She didn't think Chloe would take her back with open arms, but she didn't think she would have a door slammed in her face either.

She bangs her head lightly against the passenger window as Warren tries to dig his keys out of his pocket.

"Max," he says, nearly dropping them to the ground. He motions towards the house.

Chloe leans against the open door.

Max stares blankly ahead.

"I can't believe it." Chloe lets out a short laugh, her eyes wide. "Five years later. Are you out of your mind?"

Max is torn somewhere between grinning wildly and crying.

Chloe waves it aside regardless. "Get in the house and get something to drink. All the way from fucking Seattle. I can't believe it." She pushes the door open wider and disappears back into the house.

Max and Warren follow hesitantly.

"What do you want? Soda? Water? Alcohol? Because this is the perfect time for alcohol," Chloe calls from the kitchen.

"Soda is fine," Max says and collapses onto a sofa she doesn't remember. Warren sits on the other side, a whole cushion between them. The whole room is washed in warm colors, but dusty and bare, as if someone had gotten distracted while decorating and left it unfinished. No pictures on the wall. The bookshelves mostly empty. A blanket folded haphazardly across a chair.

"And the boyfriend?" Chloe prompts.

Warren snorts, coughing violently, and Max has to whack him on the back to get him to breathe again.

"He's not my boyfriend," Max answers hurriedly.

"Yeah, sure he's not."

He chokes again, but this time Max ignores him. "Soda's fine for him, too."

Chloe hands them their drinks and collapses in the chair across from them. Everyone is staring at Max, waiting for an explanation.

She doesn't have one.

"I'm sorry," she begins and Chloe rolls her eyes.

"Okay, I think I got that part. A little late, but thanks."

"Chloe," she pleads, and when she locks eyes with her, she sees the pain crash into Chloe's gaze, wild and angry. And then they fall flat, like a surrender. They almost remind her of Nathan and another surge of guilt courses through her.

She reaches for her bag, pulling out the photos she'd brought. "Remember these?"

Chloe takes them gingerly. "Oh, shit," she murmurs, dragging her eyes from each one as if she's afraid to look away. "God, I miss those days. Tiny Max and Chloe." She laughs darkly. "Remember that time I tried to take off down that hill with you on my bike? And we ended up crashing into a tree? You had that damn cut on your head that made you look like Harry Potter for like two weeks."

Max nods, smiling. She remembers it, barely—the feel of the wind as they'd whizzed downhill, her arms outstretched, Chloe's hair whipping against her face. There are so few things she recalls with perfect clarity, but these small moments that seem like snapshots in her mind nearly make her feel whole. These things never change.

Chloe sighs, dropping the photos into her lap. "All the way from fucking Seattle. Don't tell me something's wrong." She looks warily between Max and Warren.

Max sucks in a deep breath. "Can I make it up somehow?" She smiles weakly. "I missed you. It's just…been really rough lately." She feels as if she's swallowed sandpaper. "I'm such a dumbass," she chokes out and laughs in disbelief.

"No, you're not," Warren says the same time Chloe bites out, "Yeah, you are," which makes her laugh even more.

A smile twitches at Chloe's lips and she rolls her eyes, pushing herself back onto her feet. "Get over here," she says and pulls Max into a hug. "I missed your crazy ass."

Max wraps her arms around her, burying her face into a shirt that doesn't smell faintly like cigarettes or beer, but the unfamiliar scent of some floral detergent. She stiffens in Chloe's grip and Chloe lets go, frowning down at her.

"It's different," Max mutters, mostly to herself.

Chloe shrugs. "It's been years, Max." She collapses back onto the sofa and takes a drink of her soda. "You want things to stay the same? Arcadia Bay's not even the same. It's like a ghost town here. Everyone wants to head up to the bigger cities. It's just the older families here now."

"What about you?" Max asks, eying her blonde hair and burgundy shirt that's completely void of graphics or words.

Chloe holds out her arms in another shrug. "I'm here."

"Doing what?"

Her mouth tilts up into another smirk. "Geez, you're still nosy as hell, aren't you?"

"Sorry," Max mutters sheepishly. "I just…I was afraid after William, that you might have…"

Chloe frowns. "Is that why you came here? Kinda late for that."

"God, no, that's not…" Max lets her head fall into her hands and groans.

"I'm at college. The community one a few blocks from here."

"Really?" Max peeks out from behind her hands.

Chloe laughs. "Yeah, of course. I'd have gone to Portland State, but I wanted to stay close to Mom." Her voice falls flat a few notes.

Max feels another surge of panic. Something's not quite right in Chloe's tone and the dusty atmosphere of the house feels even more jarring. "How is Joyce?"

"She's…okay. Early Alzheimer's."

Max feels the air fall out of her in a wheeze. "God, Chloe. I'm so sorry."

"It is what it is." Chloe shrugs again, toying with the rim of her glass. "She's still working part-time, but… you know how it goes."

"At the diner?"

Chloe shakes her head. "Diner's been gone for a long time. She's a receptionist at the dental office in town."

"But she's…she's okay, right?" Max leans forward on her knees.

Chloe looks down, balancing her drink in her lap. "Yeah, sure. I mean, we're good right now."

Max falls silent, not trusting herself to speak. _What if I did this to Joyce? Another life for a life._

 _She's not dead,_ she argues. _You can't make everything happy._

 _Can't I?_ The last voice is far too eager.

Max nods just to give herself something to do.

"What are you studying?" Warren asks quietly from beside her.

"I'm in the science program," Chloe replies, her smile a little tighter. "Don't know what I want to focus on yet. Don't know if I even want to at this point. I'm just going for my associate's right now."

"Science?" Max asks, surprised.

Chloe grins. "Oh, come on. Who did you always partner up with for the science fair? Who had to quiz you on the vocab for two years straight? It was always the one thing I was good at."

Max smiles faintly. "You made me believe that 'volcano' was spelled with two o's at the end."

"Okay, well, spelling was never really my strong suit. That's what I had you for."

Max rolls her eyes. It's there in the back of her mind, like reaching behind a curtain. She can see her ten-year-old self bent over Chloe's paper, crossing out words as she corrects them. Chloe's grin is mirrored on her younger self.

"—remember when we did that lame science camp thing?" she's saying now and Max tears her focus back towards her. "The summer before you left?"

Max nods, and she's reaching even further behind the curtain. She recalls the tiny robots they'd made, how Chloe had jumped, victorious, before immediately crashing them to pieces.

"Max in science camp?" Warren smirks.

Max shoves him and his eyes crinkle in laughter.

"It got me interested in the science program at the middle school," Chloe says. "I ended up getting a scholarship to the science school here and—"

"Blackwell?" Max asks excitedly but Chloe just raises an eyebrow and shakes her head.

"No, Hemingford. They've got a really cool science program, one of the best in the county."

Warren looks as if he's practically foaming at the mouth. "Seriously?" he demands. "I've been trying for years to get a scholarship to the local science programs but everything is full."

"Yeah, well, it was full here, too," Chloe says. "I loved it though. It kept me busy."

"I know what you mean," Max replies. The days that stretch before her are so empty sometimes, she wants to pick up anything to fill them.

"You still do photography?"

Max feels her tongue grow heavy inside her mouth. "Not for a while."

"Really?" Chloe grins again. "You used to carry that damn Polaroid thing everywhere. Mom called you her own little Paparazzi."

Max laughs. "I remember that."

"All right, hang on." Chloe hops up again and disappears upstairs.

Max peers up at the stairwell in a frown. She hears Chloe rummaging around upstairs, her footsteps heavy on floor above her.

"When do you want to head out?" Warren's voice catches her off guard; she'd almost fallen into the familiarity of Chloe's house, even if everything is slightly out of place. The same chess board but with the pieces played differently. She'd almost forgotten he was there.

"I mean, we can stay as long as you want," he continues, easy smile on his face again. "But my night driving sucks. So if we stay too late…we might have to get a hotel or something." His face flushes slightly.

Her own face feels just as red. "What?"

"I've got the cash, don't worry. We can head out first thing in the morning. We'll get back in time."

"I don't know, that feels kind of…" _Personal. Intimate. Close._ Much more so than riding beside him in a car.

"All right, all right, nobody have an aneurysm," Chloe says as she descends the stairs. "You guys crash here for the night. Not-boyfriend can take the sofa and you can room with me, just like the old days. Man, Mom'll have fun with this when she gets home."

"Oh, shit." Max buries her head in her palms. "I'm so sorry. I don't want to impose on anyone."

"Max, please. She'd love to have you stay over." Chloe's eyes fall distant for a moment, but she shakes her head. She lifts up a familiar Polaroid camera from her side and smiles. "I don't know if you'd want it, but it's been sitting on my dresser for years. I didn't have the heart to pack it up. And I know he'd want you to have it." She places it into Max's hands.

"Chloe," Max whispers, holding the camera delicately. It feels as if it's never left her hands. "Your dad's camera?"

She lifts it up, snapping a photo of Chloe still grinning and the flash hits her face in a blanket of white light. "It's been so long since I've used one of these," she murmurs, meaning weeks, but she supposes it means years, as well. She shakes the photo after it slides out. It feels like second nature, like coming home.

"Well, now you've got to catch up." She leans against Max, snatching the camera and shooting another picture. "Hey, not-boyfriend, get in here, too."

Max grabs his arm as he tentatively makes his way towards her and she yanks him behind them just as Chloe snaps another one.

"Now, you can start a collection," Chloe says, handing the camera back.

Max thinks of her selfie wall that feels a hundred lifetimes ago and wonders if she could go back to that, if it would be the same to tack a new one on her bedroom wall. But the face that would stare back at her through the photos isn't the same girl she remembers being.

"A new one, maybe," she responds, placing the camera into her bag.

* * *

It's only when Chloe turns the lamp on next to her that Max realizes how late it's gotten. The room is washed in yellow and her throat feels raw from talking. A pizza box sits empty on the table between them and Warren is half-asleep on the sofa, his legs tucked behind Max.

Chloe is sprawled sideways in her chair and she glances at Warren, a wistful smile passing over her face. "Hey, you remember that time in sixth grade when I tried to get you to dance with that Ned guy?"

Another flash behind the curtain in her mind—a school gym with a lanky guy leaning over her, Chloe elbowing her as she fidgeted in the dress Joyce had made her wear.

"Oh, yeah, I remember," Max replies, smiling faintly. "I tried to talk you out of that so badly."

"I was pretty persistent." Chloe laughs. "And it was worth it because it was hilarious."

Max wrinkles her nose. "He was so disgusting." She remembers how badly he had seemed to smell, how he always seemed to place himself at her side, trying to correct her assignments and riddle her with facts from whatever book she was reading. He looked at her as if she was beneath him. And then he'd asked Max to dance and she thought she'd fall over in shock. Chloe had howled with laughter, telling her she had to do it.

The memory is so sharp it almost feels as if she's there right now.

Max shakes her head. "He always smelled like rotten eggs. And then you just pushed me onto him. I couldn't say no because he already had his arms around me and the music was playing. I thought I was going to throw up."

"I was hoping you would. It would have been classic."

"Classically mortifying, you mean." Max shakes her head again, but she's still smiling.

"So how are things with you, Miss Seattle?" Chloe asks, kicking her legs onto the coffee table.

It's an innocent question, but Max doesn't know how to give an answer that's anything like the truth. They had spent the hours talking about their childhood and now the last few weeks don't seem to line up.

Warren has dozed off next to her and he mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like "hospital."

Max tosses a throw pillow onto his face. He jerks awake and looks around wildly but Max just ignores him, scowling.

Chloe sits straight up. "Hospital? What's he talking about?"

"No, I'm fine. It's nothing physical anyway." She taps her temple, smiling, but there's nothing humorous in Chloe's gaze and the smile quickly drops from her face. Max looks away. She's spent the past couple of weeks trying to run away from that same gaze. She doesn't want to face it here.

"Shit, Max. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." She shrugs again and stifles a yawn. "I think we should call it a night." She glances over to see Warren's already fallen back asleep and a ghost of a smile passes over Chloe.

"I'm getting distinct Ned vibes from him," she advises.

"He's just a friend," Max argues but Chloe just shrugs.

"You think you and Neddy might have been friends if he hadn't smelled so bad?"

"He was an annoying asshole," Max grumbles. "Warren is…"

"A different kind of annoying?" Chloe smirks.

Max thinks of his notebook in the car, the nightmares. "He brought me here," she says quietly.

"Okay, well, might want to keep a flight of stairs in between you, just in case."

Max forces a laugh and tosses a forgotten piece of crust towards her.

Chloe just brushes it aside, her own laugh deep and rich and full of nostalgia.

When she settles beside Chloe, in a bed that's much smaller than Max remembers, Chloe pulls the blanket over her. She flops down next to her, the faint smile still toying with the corners of her lips.

"So if not-boyfriend's out of luck, is there someone who isn't?" Chloe asks.

Max sees a flicker of Nathan's face before she pushes it aside and sighs. "I don't know. I'm pretty fantastic at fucking things up."

"I hope it's not because you're comparing them to not-boyfriend."

Max snorts a laugh into her pillow. "No, I'm just…not so easy to get along with."

"Well, obviously," Chloe replies and dodges Max's swipe towards her.

"Chloe," Max whispers, her eyes heavy with sleep. She clings to Chloe's laugh, her balance, but she doesn't want to trade it for Joyce's well-being either. Max had already made her give up one parent. She couldn't think to sacrifice another. "What's going to happen when Joyce…"

Chloe blinks as she pulls the cover past her mouth. "I don't know," she whispers back. "My grandma lives up state. She comes in from time to time. She wants me to transfer to Portland State after I get my associate's. I don't know though."

"You should," Max replies. "You know Joyce wants you to."

Chloe lets out a small laugh. "There's a lot of things Joyce wants. Right now, I'm just trying to make it through today."

Max finds her hand beneath the blanket and squeezes it gently. She lets her eyes slip closed.

"Welcome back," Chloe whispers and for a moment, everything feels as if it's slotted back into place.

 _This is what I came back for. This is where I belong._ It's the last thing Max thinks before finally dozing off.

* * *

Max wakes up to the warmth of Chloe's arms around her and her breath fanning across her hair. She hears a mumbling of voices and laughter downstairs. She gently disentangles herself from Chloe's grasp.

"Morning," Chloe murmurs with a sleepy smile which Max returns. "Mom's downstairs making pancakes with not-boyfriend."

"Oh, man," Max says, horrified, and bumps into the nightstand as she gets out of bed. She nearly knocks over a box on top, filled to the brim with opened letters—all of them in her handwriting.

"I didn't know what to say," Chloe says, following her gaze. She motions to the letters. "Five years of silence and then suddenly there's letters filling up my mailbox like crazy. It started to feel like you weren't even writing to me anymore."

Max picks up one of the letters, her handwriting staring up at her like a confession. _Maybe I wasn't._

"I guess I was never good at letters either," Chloe adds.

Max catches Chloe's gaze in the mirror as she slips her arms back into her hoodie and tries to smooth her hair back down.

"So, hospital, huh?" Chloe asks. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know. I got too stressed out and lost it a little," Max replies. She focuses on a stray strand that refuses to lay back down.

"Max."

She refuses to look away from her hair.

"How much is a little? Like spiraling into depression? Because, I've been there. After Dad died."

Max reaches back and grasps her hand while their eyes meet in the reflection—a slate of glass between them.

 _I wish I could have rewound for you_ , she thinks _._ But she's been down that road, and even if Chloe has endured the same pain from before, she's already so much better off than she was, in any of her timelines.

"It's not like that," Max says.

Chloe scoots closer to the edge of the bed. "Then what is it like?"

Max sighs and leans her head against the mirror. It feels like ice against her skin. She wants to tell her everything she told Warren. She can even feel the words on her tongue, but Chloe's gaze is too guarded, too distant, and she swallows the words instead. She has no proof this time, no powers. Only miles on a road she'll have to head back on soon.

"Like I made up a whole world in my head, apparently. Gave myself time-travel powers. Tried to save people with time-travel powers. Nearly parade myself off a building because of it. That's what they say, anyway."

"That...that's, wow, you're fucked."

Max whirls around, eyes wide and mouth agape.

But Chloe smiles up at her, mischief dotting every line of her face. "Looks like we keep good company," is all she follows with, pulling Max back onto the bed and laying her head against her shoulder. The movement feels like a reassurance.

"Well, thank god for that then," Max murmurs, settling into a smile of her own.

"I was there, wasn't I?" Chloe asks, voice hushed. "In your world? That's why you sent the letters after years of saying nothing."

"You died, Chlo," Max whispers. _You died and you didn't get to see me say goodbye._

"Good to know it only takes death and a minor mental meltdown to come see your old best friend."

Chloe's head falls from her shoulder.

"Chloe, no. I don't want it to be like last time."

"Dead?"

"Not talking anymore. And with all this shit that's happened, I could use a good friend. I could use you."

"No. No, you can't guilt…" Chloe sighs, leaning against the door so that it creaks back and forth. "I never wanted you to leave, Max. Why would I tell you to leave again?"

"Do you think I could do it? Make up a whole world in my head?"

"I think," Chloe says, "if you time traveled, you could have at least bought a winning lottery ticket." Her face melts into a grin. She ducks a pillow Max hurls in her direction.

But Max's smile is sad as she tucks it behind her hand.

* * *

When they make it downstairs, Max finds Warren carrying dishes to Joyce. Joyce hums as she loads them with breakfast. She looks exactly as Max remembers, though it's a silk blouse and skirt she'd donned this morning instead of her usual waitress uniform. "Well, hello, Max," she greets with a smile and hands her a plate.

"Good morning, Joyce. Sorry for crashing your place. It was kind of a last minute trip."

"You know, I like a little notice with these things." Joyce frowns. "Especially when coming home to find random teenage boys asleep on my sofa." She glances back at Warren who gives a sheepish smile. "But, it's good to see you again."

Max smiles around a bite of pancakes.

"When are you guys heading back?" Chloe asks, scraping her own pancakes across her plate.

"Probably after this," Max admits, not meeting her gaze. "I promised my parents I'd be home before afternoon."

"Tell them to come by later for dinner," Joyce says. "We can have that pot roast your dad always like."

"Mom," Chloe chides, startling Joyce into dropping her fork. "Max moved to Seattle years ago, remember?"

"Don't you start with me." Joyce lets out a huff of laughter. "I know." She looks slightly flustered though as she brushes a strand of hair aside.

Warren raises an eyebrow but Chloe shakes her head slightly.

"You don't even make pot roast," Chloe mutters under her breath. She finishes her pancakes silently, her face sullen.

Joyce has to bat Warren's hands away when he not only helps clear the table but tries to wash the dishes as well.

"Max." Joyce dries her hands on a dishtowel. She places one hand on Max's shoulder, frowning. "I had a talk with your friend here before you girls woke up. Your folks would be worried sick if they knew you'd booked it a whole state over. They'd never forgive themselves if something happened to you. I don't know what you're running from, but this isn't the way to do it."

Max stiffens but Joyce shakes her head.

"I won't tell them, this time. I'm happy to see you anytime, but next time, let's plan it out." Her eyes cloud over and she frowns, as if she's trying to place something. Then she shakes her head and smiles again. "I'd be lying if I didn't say it was good for Chloe to see you. She's been so out of it lately. Seeing a bit of sunshine in this house was definitely needed."

Max doesn't tell her that it was what she needed as well. "Next time I come, we'll plan everything out better," she says instead.

"Hey, you better call me this time," Chloe warns. She gestures for her phone so she can type in her number. "And I wouldn't object to another visit, even if you drag this guy with you again. Maybe I can wing it up there."

"I'd love that," Max says, pulling her into a hug. "I think you'd like Seattle, too." She thinks of the skyscrapers and how easy it is to fall into the crowds, invisible. She thinks of how, several lifetimes ago, Chloe wanted to book it to California, her veins itching with wanderlust.

"I'd love more than anything to get out of here."

Things don't always change.


	14. Chapter 14

When they pull back onto the highway that stretches into Washington, Warren has a toothbrush in his mouth and Max snaps a photo of him. He pauses mid-movement, blinking away the flash and groaning at the photo that slips out.

Max smiles and slips it into her bag. "Were you really going to book a hotel?" She draws her knees up in the seat. The smile weighs too heavily on her face.

He spits out the window, wincing, and rolls it back up. "God, did I sleep with my mouth open all night? It feels like a colony of cave people moved in there overnight or something."

"Warren," she chides and he glances over at her, sighing.

"It's not like that. I didn't want to be out driving at two a.m., and I didn't think you'd really plan too far ahead. So, yeah, I brought money for a hotel. With two beds. I'm not an idiot."

She doesn't say anything to that and he reaches over to ruffle her hair, earning him a squawk of surprise.

"Is it what you thought it'd be?" he asks softly.

This makes her smile again and she rests her head against the window. "No, actually. It was better."

"Good, because if I get grounded for this, it's all your fault," he says wryly.

Max sits up fast enough to bang her head against the window. "Wait, your parents don't know?"

He rolls his eyes. "You really think they'd let me take a girl out on a road trip a whole state over? They think I'm staying over at Luke's house for the weekend. He's supposed to call me if something happens. I could see him screwing me over though, just for the laugh."

"Shit, Warren. I'm sorry." She blinks, pinpricks of guilt beneath her eyelids. She doesn't know how Nathan does it, throwing caution to the wind and going wherever impulse takes him. Another pinprick of guilt, but this time it settles in her chest.

It feels like her lack of plans has only dragged everyone through the mud with her.

"No, no, come on. I was joking." He pulls one of her arms away to grasp her hand but she tugs it back. "Don't fall apart on me. I have to get you home in one piece."

"I don't think I was in one piece to begin with." She lets out a laugh that he doesn't join. She moves her arm closer to her lap. "You didn't have to take me. Thank you, though. It meant a lot that you did."

This time he does laugh, grabbing hold of the steering wheel more harshly than he needs to. "Anything for you, Max."

Max frowns and squirms in place, replacing the silence between them with the creak of the seat beneath her. "Why did you take me?"

He looks thousands of miles away, locked in his head, and she has to ask again before he acknowledges her.

"I don't know," he finally says. He glances at her from the corner of his eye and sighs, his grip loosening slightly from the steering wheel. "I thought it would be different." He doesn't elaborate.

She looks down at the tension in her legs and back towards his narrow gaze. She thinks of his many texts, ones she would roll her eyes at as she'd skim through them. She thinks of how she'd sometimes reread them when she couldn't sleep. She thinks of their drawn-out discussions that sometimes continued for days or weeks, the constant banter that made their friends groan. She thinks of how sometimes his words seemed to hit a nerve inside her—a little too brash, a little too jarring.

She thinks of the notebook between them.

"Yeah," she says, looking down at her legs again.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he aims the AC vent towards her when the car finally starts to heat up. The sputter of it pushing through the vents and the unsteady radio is all that keeps the ride from being completely silent.

When they reach home, he parks the car a block down from her house, so her parents won't see. He turns the car off and stares ahead in silence.

"So, thanks again," Max says, her hand on the door handle.

"Let me walk you to Kate's." He doesn't move, though.

The sky is gray above them, thick with storm clouds.

 _So many storms lately,_ Max thinks and her eyes snap towards a flicker of lightning in the distance. _It's almost like a bad omen or something._

She slips out of the car. Her feet slide on the gravel from the broken sidewalk.

He follows her, shoving his hands into his pockets and ducking his head.

A cat runs out from behind a bush, startling them, and Warren peers down at it curiously.

"You know," he says, his feet dragging on the ground beneath him, "we should do this again. Maybe not across state, but still."

"Yeah, maybe." Max kicks at a stray leaf. The sky is darker now and the street lamps flick on, their orange light dim above them.

"And it'll be better." He pauses as they approach the closest street lamp.

She stops as well, several steps away from him. "Better how?"

He watches her, the way she toes at the leaf in front of her. It's barely inched from where she'd kicked it. The leaves crunch beneath his feet as he catches up to her. "When you feel up to it, I mean. When you're not weighed down by all this." He taps her temple lightly.

She bats his hand away but loses her balance. Her foot catches on a raised tree root and she stumbles.

Warren reaches to catch her, leaning her against the tree beside them. His arms cage around her as his hands rest on the trunk. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." She ducks out from underneath his arms. "I'm not made of glass, you know."

"So you wanted a face full of dirt and bruises?"

She scoffs, picking up a handful of leaves and throwing them at him. They fall only inches in front of her.

He smiles, holding his hands up in surrender. His default, easy gesture. "I'm just saying," he continues, his smile slowly fading, "you spent the whole ride with your knees pressed against the door. You jump any time I try to help you. You think I have some kind of subconscious death threat against you."

"I don't—"

"I don't like how this thing's gotten to you. It shouldn't be like this,"

"I know," she says. "Believe me, I know."

He steps closer, and the leaves crack like bullets beneath him. "And you shouldn't think that you have to drive all the way to Oregon just to find some peace."

She sighs, rubbing at the gooseflesh on her arms, even though the air is still warm. "If you came back to a world that you don't remember and the one person you wanted around you is gone, wouldn't you want to go find them, too?"

"One person?" he asks. "There's no one else you want around? Not me or Kate or your parents? Just Chloe?"

"You know that's not what I mean." She wraps her arms tighter around herself.

 _See, even Warren thinks you're selfish. Get over yourself, Max._

She forces the thoughts away.

He frowns but in the dim light, the shadows seem to split his mouth wide open. "And if we hadn't found her, then what?"

"You said we would have figured it out."

"I don't want you to go back into your shell and shut down, though."

"You sound like Nathan." She kicks another leaf at her feet. The ache in her chest deepens at his name but she tries to push it aside. "'Get out of your head, Max. It's not real.'"

"I'm not Nathan," he bites out. He takes another step forward. His face is entirely bathed in orange light now, all of his humor washed away.

She steps backwards.

"And I didn't go through a tank of gas and chasing after your childhood friend just so you can remind me I'm not him," he continues.

"I told you I'd pay you back."

He laughs sharply, the sound catching in his throat like the leaves crunching underfoot. "I don't want your money," he retorts. "I didn't want your parents' money either."

She finds herself backed against the tree.

Warren doesn't seem to notice. The leaves crunch again as he approaches her, his eyes bright from the street lamp.

Her hands tighten into fists, knotting her shirt around them. "Then what?" She's never been one for grand gestures and the way he seems to watch her now is asking for nothing less.

"I just want you here," he says softly. He leans down and this time, it's not to sweep aside a leaf. His hand moves towards her shoulder, fingers brushing against the crook of her neck. She tries to step away again, but his hand holds her still.

"We were friends, right? In your other timeline?" he continues, studying her. "So you should trust me. I'll take care of you, yeah?"

She swallows and tries again to step away.

But his hand is heavy against her shoulder, his fingers pressing lightly against her neck. Her protest dies as she meets his gaze. There are worlds of things she can't decipher there, layers of darkness she remembers seeing before, but not on him.

She feels frozen in place, everything posed like a photograph. And while she can't rewind, she can't push forward either. She knows that everything is taking place in seconds but it seems to tick past her much slower, a shuffle of photos that she has no control over. Everything is framed moment by moment.

His eyes still dark, even in the street lamp's light. The bark of the tree digging into her back. His hand rough as he cups her chin.

"It's okay," he whispers and she flinches when his breath meets her lips.

He turns her face back towards him.

Her hands find their way to his chest, determined to push him away.

But he pushes back, crushing her hands between them as his lips meet hers.

Everything in her screams and it comes bubbling out of her mouth, muffled and raw. Like a switch has been flicked, she regains her body movement and jerks away from him.

He steps back in alarm, eyes wide, hands still against her.

"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice hoarse.

"I'm sorry, I just thought—"

"No. No, get away from me." She pushes past him, practically running towards Kate's house.

"Max, come on," he calls after her. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry."

She doesn't look at him, but instead keeps going, focusing on Kate's door. She pushes the doorbell and blinks away the stinging in her eyes.

Kate pulls the door open to greet her, eying the several houses between Max and Warren with a confused smile.

"Max," Warren calls and Max whirls around, her lips pursed to keep the screams at bay. He looks at a loss for words. "Call me if you need me," he finally says. He smiles, the corners tight enough to make it more of a grimace.

Max slips inside, closing the door quietly behind her.

* * *

"I still don't agree with this," Kate says as Max closes the door. "Lying and hiding it. I mean, what if something had happened, Max? Warren's car could have broken down. You two could have been robbed at gunpoint or who even knows? It's just so…irresponsible." The last word falls flat as she takes in Max's expression. "What happened?"

"I…" Max stutters, glancing back at the closed door. Her mind feels like a chasm of voices all shouting in her head. She can't say it aloud. She lets Kate wrap her into a hug, laying her head against Kate's shoulder.

"What happened?" Kate asks again, her voice hushed. "I still don't understand why you went. You made it sound urgent."

Max's breath rattles as it pushes past her lips. She clears her throat. "The trip was fine," she says, trying to steady her voice. "We were just visiting an old friend."

"Max." Kate frowns as she pulls away. She studies Max, her eyes careful even as she squeezes Max's shoulder gently.

Max flinches away. She wonders if there's something different about this Kate, too, about everyone—some layer she can't quite discern, some dark secret they might be hiding. It's irrational, she knows it; she's projecting her fear onto Kate. But Kate's expression reminds her too much of Warren's just a few minutes ago and her body's alight with panic once more.

"Don't worry about me," Max stammers. "I just need to go home and sleep."

Kate's brow furrows and her gaze flicks towards the door. "Did…something happen with Warren?"

Her question makes the panic expand ten-fold.

"What?" Max asks, collapsing onto the sofa. "Why would you say that?"

Kate bites her lip as she meets Max's gaze. "I've been friends with Warren for a long time. He can get kind of…fixated on things sometimes. I just didn't think…" She sighs and heads towards the kitchen.

Max can hear the clatter of cabinets and metal banging against the stove. She follows hesitantly.

"Did he hurt you?" Kate demands, cranking on the stove beneath a kettle.

"No, but—"

Kate slams a box of tea onto the counter, her back hunched as she leans over it. "I'll talk to him. If you don't want to, I mean."

"Kate," Max says, but she doesn't know what to follow with.

"He shouldn't have done that." The kettle screams as steam bellows above it. "Oh, Max." She turns to face Max, her eyes red-rimmed and a smile fragile at her lips. She fumbles with the kettle, pouring the water into cups and plopping the tea bags into them. Her hands are shaking. "I'm sorry."

She folds her into another hug and Max can't tell if the whimpers are coming from Kate or herself. She holds on tightly regardless.

* * *

"I'm home," Max hollers, as she pushes open her front door. Her parents are standing beside the door, but she shouts it again, just to feel her voice even out, to look away from her parents' eyes. Her hands are still shaking and she drops her bag several times, the strap continually falling from her fingers.

"Everything go okay?" Vanessa asks, fiddling with the remote to the TV that's still off.

"If I don't ace history, you can demand all your money back from Warren. And Kate says hi." She cringes internally at her words but her parents smile anyway.

"If you don't ace history, I'm going to have to build a time machine—" Ryan cuts off his joke with a clench of his jaw. "I'm making a salad," he says, because dinner is already on the stove, because salad is the safest thing he can make.

She's home. Everything else is irrelevant.

She drops her bag on her bedroom floor, closing the door for a moment of silent. She buries her face into her pillow and screams, pushing her mouth into the fabric until she's gasping for breath. And then she slips into the bathroom, practically dousing her entire face under the faucet. It isn't until she can't feel the water running over her skin any longer that she pulls away.

She glances in the mirror, into the reflection that's not hers, that seems to smile back at her because _Chloe, she has Chloe, think of the positive._ And the breath that pushes past her lips feels much more steady.

When she makes it back downstairs, the worry crinkled in her parents' eyes reminds her too much of her own. She slips them hugs and smiles when she catches them staring at her. She settles herself in the middle of the living room while she does homework, her dad poking fun at all of the things he's forgotten since high school. She doesn't work on her history.

Her mom refills her glass with lemonade any time it dips past the halfway mark, flittering about for the sake of being busy. It's been ages since Max has seen her do that. These days, she would just hover in the doorway, watching her as if she was afraid Max would disappear.

"I'm fine," she tells them, not because she feels that way, but because they need to hear it. And she supposes, when she laughs as her dad tries to toss the dinner salad by actually tossing it gently into the air, that she needs to hear it as well.

* * *

Max finds herself sitting in front of the school, and even though she feels the heaviness of the pavement beneath her, she knows it's not real. She's been here before, this moment. She must be dreaming.

A cat is curled up next to her, its striped tail beating a pattern onto the pavement. She pets it lazily; her hand strokes the fur without her realizing it. She's seen the cat before, too—a stray that hangs around the building. It usually curls up next to her while she waits for her mom to pick her up.

The cat blinks up at her sleepily and Max smiles, even though there's something pushing inside her head, anxious and hurried. It doesn't quite fit the moment, like she's remembering something else, or a warning of what's to come.

Then, Max finds herself standing by the school building, in a different outfit, the sky darkening with rain. She peers around curiously, but her feline friend is nowhere nearby. It's strange because she's always been there— for the past few weeks, at least.

"Hope you're someplace dry," she mutters. The first of the raindrops break against the pavement.

Now, the rain feels like blades against Max's skin, sharp and cold enough that it stings her skin. For a second she thinks she's back on the roof, but a flash of lightning in the distance tells her she's on the ground. The tree branches sway like open hands above her.

She feels her bag slip from her shoulder and she tugs it back up.

 _Gotta beat the storm home,_ a voice urges in her head, muffled as though it's spoken from the other side of a door.

She feels herself running before she realizes she's doing it, shoelaces slapping at the puddles beneath her, flinging drips of water beneath the cuff of her pants.

There's a shadow standing in front of her, hunched over something on the ground. She can't make out who it is from the dreary sunlight. He turns at the sound of her footsteps and she stops, whirling behind the wall of a nearby building.

His face stands hauntingly pale before her, even after she's turned away, her own faced pressed against the wet brick of the wall.

She peers out from the corner, watching as Warren scoops whatever is on the ground into his hands. Blood streams down his arms and drips onto the ground. She makes out the curl of a striped tail and four limp limbs, but the rest is a mutilated mess.

"Fuck." His voice echoes in between the space of the buildings around her, dark and hollow. "What did I do?"

She presses herself against the wall as she sees him turning again, trying to keep her breath still. But his footsteps are heading in the other direction.

The loud screech of the school bell sounds overhead. She flinches and dodges away from the crowd of students bursting out of the classrooms. She spies Warren lingering behind the crowd. His eyes pass over her as if she isn't there but when she lets out a horrified gasp, his gaze swivels back and he smiles.

She runs away, following the line of the wall until it disappears into darkness, but she doesn't stop running.

* * *

It's the floor that wakes Max up, hard and cold against her cheekbones, with the sheets tangled around her legs. She scrambles clumsily to her feet, flicking on her lamp, the buzzing of the light bulb practically screaming in her ear. Everything else is silent.

She tries to think back, to before the hospital, to the year before that, grasping for something about him.

 _What did he do?_ The question slips in like a shadow beneath her other thoughts. Her stomach lurches. She remembers how he'd said they hadn't talked before, and she can't remember anything about him, save from passing him in the hall and rattling answers to teachers in class. There's the flash of his smile, her ducking behind a door as he walks by, panicking when he catches her looking at him. But that's all.

Her stomach lurches again and she rushes to the bathroom, barely making it before she hits the toilet. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and scratches her chin in the process.

All she can see is Warren's too-wide smile, his hands like claws against her head, a burst of red across her vision. His tongue forcing the pill down her throat as he corners her in front of Jefferson's room. His hands cloaked with blood.

His lips pushing against hers, his nails digging into her side, her scream caught between their mouths.

She can't even pull apart which version of him is real anymore.

She crawls back to her bedroom and reaches for her phone, knocking it off the nightstand. It's been as silent as it was when she came home from the hospital. And it's flickering again, the screen flashing from her home screen to a wall of white and back again. She tries restarting it and the flickering vanishes.

She can't call Kate—it's way too late and she doesn't want to bother her. She thinks of texting Nathan, even pulls up his name on her phone, but she doesn't know the first thing to say.

 _Just fuck off._

There's nothing he wants to hear from her.

She pulls Chloe's name up instead, tapping her finger against the side of her phone for a few minutes before deciding to message her.

 _Hey, are you awake?_

Her phone sits in a couple more minutes of silence before Chloe's reply pops up.

 _Who needs sleep these days? What's up?_

Max smiles and curls back up in her bed, cradling the phone in her hands.

 _I had this fucked up dream and couldn't go back to sleep. I could do with some friendly banter._

Chloe's message flashes a second later.

 _Elephants with cat paws or rhinos with bird beaks?_

Max snorts as she reads the text. It was one of the games they'd played when they were kids. Seeing the question unfold so easily in front of her makes it feel as if time hasn't even passed.

 _Definitely elephants. The cat paws are kind of cute. The bird beaks, not so much._

Her phone bleeps Chloe's reply.

 _Yeah, bird beaks are pretty freaky._

Max pulls the covers over her, her smile growing heavy as sleep starts to pull at her. She wants to ask Chloe about Warren, about Nathan, about her dream and what it could mean but by the time the questions form in her mind, she's already lost them. This is enough for now, she thinks, and she nods back off, her phone still settled in her hands.


	15. Chapter 15

"Max." Warren leans against her locker door as he approaches.

Max jerks backwards, sending one of her books crashing to the floor. "No," she says, her voice shaking slightly. Her dream is still vivid—patches of cat fur drenched in rain, the blood running down his arm. She'd managed to put most of it out of her head when she woke—scrolling through Chloe's texts had helped to scrub them out—but with him standing in front of her, it all comes crawling back.

"You shouldn't be here. I don't even want to look at you right now." She bends down to grab the book, but he beats her to it, scooping it up and holding it out of reach.

"We need to talk about last weekend," he continues.

"No, we don't." She casts a hesitant glance towards the book and decides he can have it. She tries to shut her locker door, but he grabs that as well.

"Yes, we do." He raps the book against her locker, beating out an unsteady rhythm. "Look, I wanted to apologize."

"Okay. Noted. You can go now." Max rubs at her eyes and the dream's colors start to fade again.

"Can we start over?" He holds out her book and she reaches for it slowly. "I mean, you were freaked out and I may have jumped the gun a little."

"Warren," she tries, dragging his name out as she looks away. "Warren, you cornered me against a fucking tree—"

"Yeah, okay," he interrupts, flinching. "That was…I didn't mean to. I get it. I'll give you your space."

His eyes are soft, yet empty. Nothing lurking beneath, not even empathy. It crashes harshly with how he looked down at her last weekend.

Then she blinks and she sees her own panic reflected back to her, the way his eyes flicker across and past her face like they're the only part of him that can't hold still.

Max frowns and backs away from the locker again.

He holds up his hands in slow protest. "I wasn't trying to scare you. I'm sorry." A shadow of a smile crosses his face. "I, uh, got caught up in the moment. That's all."

One of his fingers starts tapping at her door again—quick, unsteady, like the way his eyes dance past her. He curls and straightens it, sweeping it back and across the top of her locker. For one strange moment, it reminds Max of the lazy flicker of a cat tail.

Max shakes her head, slowly, as if she's trying to shake away the remnants of a bad dream.

"Of course," someone behind her says dryly.

She turns away again, catching the flash of a black jacket as someone walks by. Nathan passes without so much as a glance in her direction. His lips are tilted into a grimace and he mumbles something under his breath.

"Nathan," she calls out, seizing the chance. She doesn't care if he turns around. She doesn't care if he even says anything. She just wants him to stop, to acknowledge her before he barrels away again.

He walks past her without even looking.

Warren slams his hand against the top of her locker door, grabbing her attention again.

Max jumps and Nathan finally pauses, his shoulders tight as his eyes meet hers then flick towards Warren.

Warren pauses as well, his back straightening as if trying to make himself taller. "You had fun this weekend, right?" he asks Max, even though his eyes are still on Nathan. "Come over to Kate's today. We're doing study group. Just study group. No obligations or anything."

Nathan scowls and pushes past a girl standing next to him.

Warren's words fly past her as she steps forward. "Nathan," Max says again, attempting to follow after him.

Warren grabs hold of her arm and pulls her gently back. "Let him go, Max. He doesn't get it."

"You don't know what you're talking about." She pulls her arm free as she tries to find Nathan again, but he's already lost in crowd.

Warren scoffs, but the sound is light, as soft as his voice, his words. Like he's trying not to scare off a rabbit. "Come on, can't you see it?"

She turns back. His eyes dart across her face again, slower this time. "See what?" she asks.

One side of his mouth twists into a smirk. "He's just playing you, Max. He's bored. You're fun for the moment. Now he's bored again."

"You really don't know what you're talking about," she replies, rolling her eyes. It isn't as if she expects him to say anything different. He can't see how Nathan's mask falls off during the late-night drives, the warehouse, the way Nathan folds and unfolds his hand in group therapy, knuckles cracking as if something is breaking loose, one piece at a time.

All Warren can see Nathan's easy insults, his indifference, the wall he's thrown up, her own crumbling down.

All Warren can see is what he wants to see.

 _But isn't that what you do?_ the voices in her head prods. _See what you want to see? Force it through when you can't?_

Warren's smirk falls away. "That's what he does, though. It's what he's always done."

Max thinks back to first few times she'd run into Nathan, the light that had danced in his eyes and the jack-o-lantern grin. The indifferent insults, the almost affectionate ones.

" _Oh, no. I always find you entertaining… You, Mad Max, are not really what I'd call boring."_

Even the past here feels removed from her, like it doesn't match up to the present.

She doubts the Nathan from then would have even bothered to argue with her, that he would have just scoffed and walked away without a thought. But, then, all it had taken was one major argument for him to burn through the last of his patience with her. One time where she didn't go along with what he was saying.

And now he'd done his bit and there was nothing left for him to do.

Warren's words seem to push into the spaces left behind. He'd been more attentive than her these past few years. And Nathan and Victoria were well-known for their pranks. Warren would have noticed if Nathan had led on another girl just so he and Victoria could laugh about it later.

So much has changed since then.

"It's not like that," Max says.

"He's not going to get it." Warren's eyes lock onto hers and he smiles faintly. "I do, though. I get it."

Soft voice, soft words. She can see how easy it was to fall into them last week, tired and stretching for anything that could give her answers.

She doesn't have any answers now, though.

And now she stares up at Warren, his eyes still darting around, and all she wants to do is throw her book in his face, make him stop looking at her. She wonders if the softness there is real or if she'd only wanted to see it. If she'd projected his words into their meaning. If he'd ever believed her.

 _Tell me something real,_ she wants to yell at him.

"Come over?" he asks again. His hand is still against her locker now, both of them draped over her door like a surrender. It seems odd at this moment to think of them pressing her against a tree or holding a broken cat. It seems odd to think of them as anything except shrugged into an endless apology.

"I don't know." She peers over his shoulder, looking for a clear path to escape into. Away from his hands, his eyes. "I don't think so."

Warren follows her gaze, frowning. "Well, if you change your mind," he says, "let me know."

"Warren! There you are."

They both turn to see Kate running up to them, panting. She glances from Warren to Max and the locker door between them.

"Is everything okay?" Kate asks, still out of breath.

"Yeah," Warren says, his frown deepening. "We're good."

"Really?" Kate looks to Max now and Max finds herself nodding slowly.

"We're good, Kate," Warren repeats.

Max can't tell if there's an edge to his voice or she's imagining it. But Warren is already trailing after Kate as Kate leans towards him to tell him something.

He turns back to Max and casts another small smile in her direction. "Catch you later, maybe?"

Max stares ahead, not answering.

Kate shoots her one last glance. Her smile is tight as she leads Warren away.

Max feels her breath leave her slowly. She reaches up to close her locker, but her palm is sweaty and it keeps sliding off the metal. She leans against it instead.

She hopes whatever Kate tells him is more than what she can say.

When the bell sounds overhead, she peels herself away from her locker. She wipes her palms against her jeans and slams the door closed. The sound echoes harshly in the hallway and several students jump.

"You're full of shit," she says. " _Shit._ " She kicks at her locker door and heads to class, ignoring the few stares still lingering at her.

* * *

When her last class ends, Max weaves her way through the crowd.

"Max," Kate calls, catching hold of her before she can slip out the front door. "What did he say to you?" She pulls Max outside and away from the trickling of people behind them. "Earlier?"

Max frowns and adjusts the strap of her bag against her shoulder. "He apologized," she begins and Kate lets out a sigh.

"Okay, well. That's something. Maybe."

Max pauses, wondering if she should tell Kate what he told her about Nathan. Or if Kate would roll her eyes. _Why would you listen to Warren?_

But she could easily swing the other direction. _Well, of course, you should stay away from Nathan. You don't know what he's capable of._

Kate drums her fingers against the strap to her own bag and Max finds herself drawn to it. _Tap. Tap. Taptaptap._ Fidgeting fingers. "It's not the first time."

"The first time," Max echoes. As if Warren had approached her before. As if she's seen that horrible smile peeking through some hole in her past. As if he had leaned over her, white light overhead, syringe blinking the light into her eyes.

No.

That was Jefferson.

Warren was never in the Dark Room.

 _You're losing it, Max,_ she tells herself again. She feels laughter bubbling in her chest and she coughs.

Her own fingers are drumming in time to Kate's, tapping against her shoulder. She doesn't even remember when she'd begun doing it.

"What do you mean?" Max asks.

Kate is silent, dragging her feet as she paces the sidewalk. "Is your mom picking you up today? Do you want to come over?"

"I thought you were having study group today," Max recalls.

"Oh," Kate says, blinking. Kate, who keeps everything written down in her planner and flips through it on a constant basis. Kate, whose routine is as predictable as the clock on her phone. Kate, who never forgets anything unless there's a reason to.

"You're right," she continues. "I forgot all about it. Well, it usually doesn't start until four. Lauren's got debate club till then."

Lauren. The girl whose name Max can never remember.

Max nods, fumbling with her phone as she pulls it from her pocket. "Yeah, let me text my mom."

Kate nods as well. She casts her eyes downwards as she walks, lining the heel of one foot to the toe of the other.

The walk isn't far, half a mile at the most. But Max can count the number of times she'd walked home on her hand. After the hospital, that is. Before the hospital, she's sure she hadn't given a second thought to the walk.

She hates how eerie everything feels after a dream, how everything seems to be covered in some hazy aura, déjà vu prickling at her neck like a warning. Even the small string of shops they pass seems to be setting off alarms in Max's head.

Kate sets to work as soon as they reach her house. Kettle, tea, a package of cookies she hands to Max to open. Max grabs the mugs as well as Kate beckons to the porch.

Max takes a sip from her own mug, wincing at the heat, and sets it aside.

"Have you seen him," Kate asks, ignoring her own mug, "when he gets into something?" She steeples her fingers in front of her chin.

Cat tail flicking.

Hands on a tree.

Pages of dreams.

"I don't know." Max closes her eyes and this time the laugh trickles out. She presses her palm against her mouth.

"It's all in or nothing," Kate continues. "There's no in between. It's been like that since we were kids. I've always been the one who could reign him in."

"Kate." Max takes another sip from her mug, already forgetting it's still hot. She pushes the mug further from her. "Did he…did he do something to you?"

"What?" Kate blinks at her, a cookie midway to her mouth. "No. No, of course not. Why would you think that?"

Max's own cookie falls out of her grasp on to the table. "I just asked."

Kate smiles faintly, a small twist of her lips that doesn't match her tone. "It wasn't Warren."

Max drops her cookie again but she doesn't pick it up again. "Oh my god, Kate."

"Nothing happened," Kate rushes to add. "Just creepy guys trying to find some truth to the rumors."

"Yeah, but that's enough—"

"Thanks, Max, but I don't want to talk about it." She lets out a huff of laughter. "I don't want to talk about any of this, really."

Max stays silent, dropping cookie crumbs into her tea. "We don't have to," she finally says, when the quiet is too much. It isn't as if she wants to rehash her dream or the past weekend either.

"I knew what to look for." Kate's voice grows smaller. "I knew Warren was a little bit too into you. And I didn't say anything. I didn't think it'd be like last time. I mean, you guys were friendly."

"The first time," Max says again.

Kate nods. "He had a crush on someone in eighth grade. She kind of went along with it. Let him do her homework, buy her things. And then, I don't know, he got a little…fixated. He called her all the time and started following her around, even after school." She pauses, toying with the handle of her mug. "Then she ended up transferring schools. I don't know what happened. He won't talk about it, but he says nothing really happened."

Max has knocked her tea over. It isn't until the cooling liquid has dripped onto her legs that she notices it. "Sorry," she mutters, pushing her chair back and righting her cup.

Kate hands her a napkin and Max blots at the mess on her pants.

"Max." Kate reaches over to blot at the tea on the table. When she catches Max's gaze, her hand stills. "He says nothing happened with you either."

Max feels her face flush and she shakes her head.

"One of the guys," Kate adds and looks away, busying herself with the spilled tea again, "cornered me against a locker and asked if I was really as easy as people were saying. I pushed him away and he backed off. But he could have come back. He could have been more persistent. One of the other guys could have done the same thing. So, I say nothing happened because it could have been worse."

Max pauses, her own napkin forgotten in her lap.

"It's just…" The muffled sound of a doorbell sounds from the other side of the house. "When Warren says nothing happened, it doesn't seem like nothing happened."

"It wasn't 'nothing'," Max says quietly.

"I figured that," Kate replies. "And I made sure he realized that as well. It's not okay, regardless."

"Yeah." Max runs a hand through her hair, catching it through a patch of tangles in the back. She shakes them loose.

"Did Nathan try something?" Kate asks hesitantly.

"What?"

"You haven't been around him lately. I thought something might have happened."

"No." Max lets out a short laugh and shakes her head. "No, it's not like that. We got into an argument. Just…different ideas on things, I guess."

"Ideas on what?" Kate looks behind her when she hears the muttering of a conversation inside. "It's not because of Warren, is it?"

"He didn't want me to go find Chloe," Max admits.

"Your friend you went to visit? Why?"

Max pauses, wondering how much to tell Kate, how much she could tell Kate. "I saw a lot of her when I…hallucinated. I think I just wanted to prove that she was real."

"Nathan didn't think she was real?"

"Not like how I saw her."

"And then you went with Warren," Kate replies. "Oh, boy. I bet he didn't take that well."

"I don't know. He won't talk to me."

"Well, of course not. Nathan doesn't take a grudge lightly." Kate finishes her tea and pushes her mug aside. "I mean it's _Nathan._ " She frowns.

Max laughs again and dumps the pile of wet napkins in front of her. "Yeah, well, I don't know what to do."

"You'll have to talk to him eventually, I suppose. You can't avoid each other forever."

"Hey." The back door creaks open and Warren steps out. "Your mom said you were back here. Tess is on her way." His eyes fall on Max and he smiles cautiously. "Hey, Max. I didn't think you were coming."

"I'm just leaving, actually." She pushes up from her chair and Kate grabs the wet napkins and mug to set aside.

Warren's smile quickly falls. "Right. Well, I'll see you later then."

Max pauses as she slings her bag onto her shoulder. "Maybe."

Warren pulls Max's chair aside so she can reach the back gate.

"Warren," Kate chides, shaking her head slightly.

"I'm just…" He steps back, frowning. "Sorry."

"I'll see you later," Max says, tossing a wave behind her as she heads through the gate. She hears Kate murmuring something to him as he scoffs a protest. But she closes the gate, the loud creak blocking both their voices.

There's something wrong with Warren's words, something she can't quite catch and it isn't until she's back in her room, turning on her laptop that it hits her.

She peers out her window, seeing Kate and Warren hunched over the table on Kate's porch. A third girl approaches, shouting a greeting and collapsing into the empty chair. She's the same girl Max sat with the last time she'd been to their study group, the one who had complained about algebra. But at the same time, she's not. Her hair is different and while Max can't recall what color it had been last time, she's sure it's not the blonde that falls to her waist now.

 _She could have dyed it,_ Max's brain insists, but the color looks too natural. Her face looks different too, familiar but _different,_ as if something has been slightly rearranged.

Tess, Warren had called her.

Lauren, Kate had called her.

She can't remember what they'd called her last time.

Max closes the blinds and turns back to her laptop. There's a hundred reasons why she could have mixed the girl up. Confusing timelines again. Dreams she doesn't remember. Maybe she'd seen someone that resembled her before.

 _It's not like people just change in front of your eyes, Max._

"I'm losing it," Max mutters, rubbing at her eyes. Her laptop chimes a greeting and she lets her focus fall back to that instead.

* * *

Max doesn't go to group therapy that week. She doesn't know if Nathan will be there, but she doesn't want to face the chance of being stuck in a room with him, several chairs between them, or worse, sitting next to him while he pretends she doesn't exist.

"Are you sure?" her mom asks hesitantly. Max squirms beside the front door, ready for the chance to jump out and head next door to Kate's. Anything to keep her hands and mind busy.

"You're not going to skip your session with Doctor White, too, are you?" Vanessa continues.

Max shakes her head, pulling open the door slowly. "No, I just don't want to be around too many people right now."

She barely hears her mother's reply before she's out the door and jogging over to Kate's. Kate is already on the back porch, tea at the ready, a paperback folded open in her lap. Her smile is easy and open in a way that makes her think of Chloe and not Warren.

For the first time, they talk about neither Warren nor Nathan. They don't talk about hallucinations or timelines. They don't talk about assignments Max is still behind in.

They do talk about Pride and Prejudice, Max laughing when she tries to persuade Kate to pick up a copy of _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_ only for Kate to groan that she wishes neither the film nor the book had ever been made.

They talk about the fundraiser Kate's church is running for the shelter downtown and how she wanted to knit mittens to donate. "Except they look like this." Kate frowns when she shows Max the deformed batch of knots she'd put together.

They talk about setting up a skype date for Kate to meet Chloe, Max burning with curiosity to see how the two sides of her world will mesh. _Good, it will go good,_ she tells herself, because at this point, she's already been through the worst that could happen.

 _Have I?_ she thinks, and a brief image of Kate and Chloe yelling at each other through a glass wall smashes into her thoughts.

 _But that didn't happen in the original timeline._

Or any timeline that she could remember.

The image quickly dissipates and Kate waves a hand in front of Max. "Okay over there?"

"Yeah." Max smiles. "Yeah, I'm fine."

* * *

Dr. White's room feels smaller this week, overstuffed and suffocating. Max picks a chair that seems farther than the others and wriggles constantly, as if the movement will somehow bring more space into the room.

"We missed you at group this week," Dr. White tells her. "Nathan asked about you."

Max freezes in mid wriggle, raising an eyebrow. "He did?"

A small smile quirks at the doctor's lips. "Why does that surprise you?"

"We're not…really on good terms right now."

"Oh?"

Max doesn't have to look over to see her pen poised above her notes and she has the sudden urge to rip it from her hands and toss it out of the room.

"We just had an argument." She shrugs. "Nothing serious."

"Serious enough to want to skip group this week," Dr. White replies. "He's worried about you, you know."

Max shifts, turning away from the doctor's gaze. The bobbleheaded cat is still on her desk, nodding at Max as if it's trying to encourage her. _Go on. Tell her how much you fucked up._

"Any idea why he might be worried?" Dr. White continues and the cat keeps nodding.

But her words don't seem to have the same power they did last week, or even the week before that. Max doesn't feel hopeful or nervous or even nostalgic. She feels as if she could be sitting in any chair, talking to anyone. Someone asking how her day went without actually wanting the details. _How are you? I'm fine, thanks. How are you?_ Lines from a script.

Except she doesn't know what her lines are. She doesn't know if she should pretend she's fine, if she really is. She doesn't know if she should just scream out that she doesn't believe anything is real or dreams or memories. She just _is._ Existing, moving from point A to point B, connecting dots that lead to nowhere.

"Max," Dr. White's voice is soft as it calls out and Max's eyes jerk towards her. "Is there something you need to talk about?"

Max's eyes drop back down to the cat, forever nodding. _Go on. Go on._

"I don't know," Max replies. "I don't know anymore."

The pen drops gently. Dr. White leans forward but Max is already on her feet, heading for the door. She doesn't care how much time is left. She can't be in that room for a second longer.

* * *

Max leans back against the old deck, the sunlight warm against her face. The wood creaks uneasily beneath her. She knows one day this whole deck will cave in, the whole warehouse probably will, but for now she feels dangerous and free. It makes the past few days seem to settle outside of her head.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Max almost topples off the deck at the loud intrusion. She turns to see Nathan standing behind her, leaning in the doorway that had once held a door. It's nothing but rotting wood now.

She swallows and looks away, gripping the deck so she can hop down. "I didn't think you'd be here," she says the same time he bursts out, "This is my spot. You stay the fuck away from here."

Max frowns and Nathan's face twists in a snarl as he glares down at her. His hands curl into fists at his side. It reminds her so much of the other Nathan that she takes a step back.

"Look, I'm sorry I took your precious spot," Max continues as she steadies her voice. "Get out of my way and I'll leave you to sulk in peace or whatever."

He doesn't move, flexing his hands open and back into fists.

"Right," she says, starting to move past him. "Is this how it's going to be now? You glaring at me when you're not pretending I'm invisible?"

He scoffs as he leans against the deck.

"Yeah, okay." She nods, heading out the empty doorway. "Whatever."

"You made Graham take you to Oregon."

She turns back towards him.

His eyes are everywhere but on hers.

"It's not like that," she finds herself saying again.

She'd tried so much these past few days not to let her mind wander to this moment, to think of what she could say to Nathan to close the distance again. And when she had, when his face had slipped through the barrier she'd tried to throw up, this had not been her opening line.

She walks back over to him, toeing at one of the legs to the deck.

"What the fuck else would it be like?"

"I had to go," she insists.

He snorts and shakes his head.

"I told him," she continues. It feels as if she's talking about someone else, that the Max and Warren who left on that trip are not the same ones who came back. "I told him about rewinding and wanting to see Chloe and he offered to take me. He believed me, Nathan."

"You're so fucking stupid," Nathan replies. He presses the heel of his hand against his forehead. "How can you be that naïve?"

She sighs sharply. She already knows it was too easy to cling to the parallels between timelines. She doesn't know which is worse, the paranoia or the instinctual panic that led her to chasing them in the first place.

"You didn't believe me," she says. "No one did. Of course, they didn't." She shakes her head, scoffing. "So, yeah, I went along with the first person who did. It made me feel like, for one fucked up moment, I wasn't crazy. I took the chance. I mean, god, Nathan, what was I supposed to do?"

"Not go," he bites out. "Not buddy up with the next guy available. Fuck, Max. If he'd told you that you had wings would you have jumped off a fucking cliff, too?"

"Shut up." Max turns back towards the door again. Her hands are shaking so badly that it takes her several tries to shove them into the pockets of her hoodie. "I fucked up, okay? I fucked up a lot. But you checked out, too, Nathan. You left and there was no one else and I hated it."

"That's a fucking lie, Max, and you know it," he says. "If you just opened your fucking eyes, you would see that."

"I left Chloe. I left her and she left me and it took me forever to find her again. Because that's what happens. I leave and people disappear. You disappear."

"That doesn't even make sense."

She whirls around to face him again. "Then what the hell have you been doing this past week?"

"Don't you fucking blame me. You pushed me away first. I didn't want this." He gestures wildly at her.

"So, it's my fault?"

He slams his hand against the deck, the wood creaking loudly as he does. "No, Max. You pushed me away first. I tried to help you like some dumbass and you pushed me away. I didn't fucking disappear. You wanted me gone so I left you alone. I didn't think you'd jump on the next guy who comes your way." His voice drops lower. "And fucking Gayram was practically telling the whole goddamn school about your little trip."

Max's cheeks flush furiously. "What did he say?"

His snarl fades and he gapes at her instead. "What did he do?"

"Nothing." She forces a shrug.

 _He said nothing happened._

 _It didn't seem like nothing._

 _It wasn't 'nothing.'_

"Nothing happened," she insists.

"Max, what did he do?"

"Nothing happened," she repeats. "Nothing you'd be interested in anyway. We just visited with Chloe for the night and drove back home afterwards. That's it."

He pulls at the sides of his hair. "Yeah? Is that what you guys were chatting about this morning? Is that why your face is so red? What did he do, Max?"

His gaze is all fire now. She can feel the anger practically radiating from him. She can feel it latching onto her like a virus.

"Why do you care?"

He shrugs. "I don't."

"Then why are you yelling at me? To tell me I'm an idiot for trying to find Chloe? For walking right into Warren's hands when I thought he was helping me? Because you already did plenty of that. I don't need an encore, thanks." She turns back towards the door.

He sputters out something like a growl. "Did you fuck him?" He places a hand on her shoulder, spinning her around to face him. His eyes are bloodshot and practically bulging. "Is that what happened? Because if that's all you wanted…" He throws his hands up in the air, grinning that horrible grimace again.

"What is wrong with you? I didn't do anything with him. I don't want to—he—" She feels the pinprick of tears and wipes them away with an impatient hand.

Nathan's yells fall into silence. She can't hear anything except his breath heaving from his chest as she tries to fill air into hers.

"Did he hurt you?" His voice drops quiet again. When she doesn't answer, he slams his hand against the deck again before marching off towards his truck.

Max tears her gaze towards the doorway. She's barely registered what's happened till she hears his footsteps fading in the crunch of leaves. She runs after him, trying to slam his door shut as he opens it. "No, Nathan. Don't. It's not going to help anything."

"Oh, it'll help plenty when I pound his face into the ground," he counters, trying to pull her hand away from his door.

"He didn't hurt me. He just…kissed me." She leans against his truck, still grasping at the handle. "He grabbed me and kissed me. I didn't want to kiss him. He did it anyway."

Nathan lets out a strangled grunt, wrenching the door open and sending her stumbling backwards. He falls into the seat, draping his arms over the steering wheel as he stares forward. His hands curl back into fists. "Get in the truck."

"What? No. You're going to get yourself arrested or something. It's not worth it."

An image of Nathan lying on the floor, bruised and bloodied, flashes through her mind.

"Then, what do you want me to do? Let him paw all over you?"

"He didn't paw all over me."

"He kissed you, Max. That's not 'nothing.' Especially if he forced it on you."

"I know," she says and he laughs darkly. "I fucking _know,_ okay?"

He blinks at the sudden shout and she can see the muscles twitching around his mouth.

The dream flashes back in a burst of colors—storm-cloud gray and blood red. Warren's eyes both dark and bright as he leans towards her. Shadows twisting on his face from a light dangling overhead as she cowers behind an old mattress.

She didn't dream that. She doesn't even know where the image came from, but it's there, the light swinging back and forth no matter how many times she tries to blink it aside.

Something tugs at her hair and she realizes she's worked it into a mess around her fingers again.

"I'll fucking kill him," Nathan says.

"No." Max shakes her fingers free and crosses her arms, then crosses them the other way.

He glares at her and she glares back, her nails digging into her arms as she tries to keep them from trembling.

He scoffs, jerking his head towards the passenger seat. "Get in, Max."

"No, I'm not helping you—"

"Do you want a ride or not? How did you even get here?"

"I took a cab." She edges closer to the truck.

"Just get in," he says, starting the truck and she hesitates again before sliding in. "I fucking knew… You stay away from him, okay? I swear to fucking god I'm going to destroy that asshole. You shouldn't put up with that shit."

She chokes out a squeaked attempt of laughter, which makes him glare at her again. "I'm fine," she adds with a shrug that looks more like a shudder.

"Oh, yeah, you look real fine."

"I'm fine," she insists, her voice firm.

Nathan casts a wary look in her direction and sighs. "You think you're such a badass. Then when shit happens…"

"Nathan." She shakes her head slowly. "I can handle this myself."

He lets out a grunt, his hands tightening on the wheel.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm taking your ass home." He reaches for his pack of cigarettes and tosses it to the floorboard when he finds it empty.

"You're being ridiculous." Her blood feels like mercury sailing through her veins.

"Whatever," he mumbles. "Just shut up."

"Why do you care anyway?" She peers out the window, watching the road signs zip past.

"Shut up or I'm leaving your ass out on the side of the road."

"No." She crosses her arms again and stares at him until his gaze flicks towards hers.

His eyes are heavy with dark smudges and his lips are cracked. His tongue darts out to wet them and he looks away. "Why the hell do you think, crazy bitch?" He jerks to a stop at a gas station and her head whips back against the head rest. He slams the door as he goes inside.

She bites her lip as she considers the silence building in the cab around her. She feels as if she's back at square one. Back trying to separate the cracks between reality and illusion. But now she's tipped the scales, kicked over everything so that she doesn't care what blends with what. No one had believed her. Even Chloe had given her nothing but sympathetic smiles when she has nothing to show as proof. But she'd shed a lot more of her shell for Nathan these past few weeks. The fact that he'd tossed it all aside and gotten tired of her stung more than she wanted to admit.

And now, with Warren at the back of her mind, she hates that she had leaned a little too eagerly into his direction, for anything that could have led her to believe what she wanted. That he had probably done it only to take advantage of her.

It stings even more.

She sighs and bangs her head softly against the back of the seat. The movement sends something jangling from beside her and she peers down at a sea of empty beer bottles and the duffle bag she'd tripped over the other day. It's stuffed full, the sleeve of a shirt poking free. She frowns, leaning closer to tug open the zipper but the sound of the truck door being yanked open jerks her back into her seat.

Nathan climbs back in the truck, ripping open a fresh pack of cigarettes. He sticks one in his mouth and glares at her warily, as if expecting her to start yelling at him again.

She feels completely deflated.

"I don't want to fight anymore," she mumbles and he nods, tossing the cigarette pack on top of the console. "I'm sorry." She laughs dryly. "I shouldn't have taken everything out on you. When you were trying to help. It wasn't fair."

"Life's not fair, Caulfield," he replies, moving the cigarette to the side of his mouth as he lights it. "What are you gonna do about it?"

She shrugs as he pulls back onto the road.

"I—fuck. I am, too," he drawls out. "Sorry or whatever." He flaps a hand towards her. "I mean, I'm sorry. I lash out. I can be an ass. I didn't want you to go because _I_ didn't go. Doc always said my temper was my worst trait. I just didn't want—fuck." He slams his hand onto his horn, blaring it long enough to make the car next to them swerve for a moment. "I fucking knew it," he continues. "That you'd go without me. I should have just taken you myself."

"You know you wouldn't have."

"If it meant you going with that jackass instead, then yeah, I would have."

"What do you mean, because you didn't go?" Max asks.

"I did it, too." His words are so soft, she thinks maybe she'd imagined them. "This girl. She looked like a fucking angel. I used to see her everywhere, but I could never talk to her. She'd disappear every time I got close."

Max feels a sinking sensation as she realizes where this is going. "Because she wasn't real."

Nathan scoffs. "I stopped taking the meds, thinking they'd let me find her again. I think I saw everything but her." He casts a sidelong glance towards her. "You remind me of her, a little bit."

"Yeah, right," Max scoffs.

He takes a deep drag of his cigarette, holding his breath for a moment before exhaling with a shake of his head. "I said a little bit."

"So what happened when you couldn't find her?"

"I think I'm still looking," he replies, his eyes locked on hers for a moment before flicking back towards the road. "I'm not going to sugarcoat things for you, Max. I can be an ass, but I'm not always trying to be."

She nods slowly.

"How was it? She's the girl from your timeline, right?" His eyes rake down her body, studying her. "You're still in one piece, so it must have gone okay."

"She's...she's good. Better than I remember, actually."

"I guess you're stuck here then, huh? No more chasing ghosts?" His tone is dark again but when she looks up at him, she sees the measured crinkle at the corner of his eyes, their pause.

"Pfft. Who else would put up with you?" she counters, looking away. "You'd have to find someone else to get late night milkshakes and share hallucination stories with."

"Yeah, that might be hard." He sighs, blowing smoke out the crack in his window. "Look, Max…" He studies the ember of his cigarette. "I've got my own ghosts to chase."

"You just said no more chasing ghosts."

"They're not those kind of ghosts."

Her eyes fall to the empty bottles between them. "Then, what?"

"You've got your mom and dad. You've got friends. Things are okay at home."

"What does that have to do—"

"Things aren't okay with me. And I think if I want them to be…" He takes another drag of his cigarette and shakes his head again, slowly. "I don't know. I think about leaving sometimes. Doing what I couldn't before."

"Nathan."

 _You can't run away from your problems,_ is what she wanted to say. But it's basically all she's been doing lately.

For a moment, she imagines herself trailing out of state again, cutting off her life, her parents, Kate, Chloe. Finding something new where there are no threads tangling the present. No history to cloud her judgment of memory or dreams. Shedding everything like a jacket she can just roll up and toss behind her.

But then she sees her mom's eyes, the stamp of crow's feet that hadn't been there a year ago, the way her dad forces a laugh at every joke he makes, regardless of how funny it actually was. She imagines the house empty and stretched between them. No timeline to write over them. She doesn't think she could ever do that to them.

"There's nothing for me here," Nathan's saying and Max blinks. "And if I stay in Seattle, I'm just going to get dragged back to where I was before. Where's the progress in that?" He chuckles darkly.

"So, you're just going to leave?" Max asks. "Where are you going to go?"

"I'm not leaving. I just…want the option, I guess. A door."

"So," Max says, trying to grasp his words, "you don't want me around?"

He taps ash from his cigarette out the window. "You mean, you don't want me around. You made that pretty clear, Max. Probably better that way."

More than a week ago, his truck between them as they shouted, she'd thought the same thing. But that she was pulling him under with her, not the other way around.

She smiles wryly and it makes him frown even more. "That's not true," she replies. "Kind of the opposite, really."

He lets out a strangled sound. "I wish…" He trails off with another short laugh. "You're pretty much the only person I can tolerate right now. And I like that it's...all right when we're together. When it can be, anyway."

She would laugh if she could force her lungs to cooperate. There's absolutely nothing all right about it but she'll take the words regardless.

"But I feel like I'm going in fucking circles. I feel like I need _out._ " Here, slouched over the steering wheel in his own truck beside her, he seems completely out of his element. Someone with all the answers, all the cards set out because he knows all the plays. Now the table is bare. The difference sets her askew.

"I feel like that, too, sometimes. Like I don't know what the point is, to any of this."

"The point," Nathan repeats. "No one knows what the fucking point is."

Max hums in agreement. "So why not look for it, then?"

He shrugs his eyebrows. "Why not?"

"You seem to be pretty good at finding the present."

"I don't," he shakes his head, "I don't even know what that fucking means."

"Living in the present. Living in the moment," she continues.

"You want to live in the moment, Caulfield?" He flashes a crooked grin and laughs.

Her voice falters and she feels her face darken in a blush.

He laughs again. "Blow up cars? Set fires to people's yards? Get high and spin the wheel? Round and round it goes, where it stops is where the fuck you're sleeping tonight? Have your dad fish you out of jail because you couldn't tell that the park fountain wasn't a toilet? It's not all roses."

"Okay, but what about now? Would you do all of that now? Any of that?"

"No," he replies, the humor faded from his voice. "But that's not the point."

"Then, what is?" She turns to face him, her voice falling serious as well.

"The moment," he says, like he's contemplating it. "Like this moment."

The traffic light flashes red before them.

"Yeah." The word feels caught between her lips.

Nathan's eyes seem to catch as well, watching their movement. His tongue traces his own bottom lip. "Okay," he says, a word that's not really a word at all, but a movement of air, hushed and paused between them.

Then his lips follow suit, closing the space between them, capturing hers. He pulls away, like it's a question.

"Because you didn't seem like you wanted me to," he says, as if he's answering it.

Max bites her lip and imagines she still feels the warmth from his own. "I just wanted you to believe me," she says. "To look at me and see _me._ Not yourself, not some pitiful girl you decided to take under your wing."

He makes a strangled sound as they hit a red light. "How could I not see you?"

"You tell me."

His eyes find hers again, a flare of blues much darker than hers. "You're pretty hard to ignore, Max," he says softly.

"Yeah, well—"

His lips crash back into hers, hard and rough against her mouth as he swallows the rest of her sentence. Her heart slams against her rib cage and renders her argument completely pointless.

He pulls away as the light flashes green and speeds forward, leaving her sucking on her bottom lip to try to bring feeling back into it. Leaving space between them that feels somehow electric and comforting and full of the moment.

She sees his smile through the windshield's reflection, carefully tucked beneath the cigarette between his fingers. When she turns towards him, his hand is back on the steering wheel and the smile is barely there.

She reaches hesitantly for his other hand, running her fingers against the roughness of his knuckles.

He startles, but lets her, flexing his fingers beneath hers. "So, what do you want then?"

"This," she says, squeezing his hand slightly. "This is good."

"This moment?" He tosses his finished cigarette out the window.

"Just this." She looks out the passenger window, both slightly startled and pleased that he hasn't let go of her hand.

"Max." His fingers trace hers. "I meant it when I said I can't fix it. You've gotta face it."

"Yeah," she says, her gaze still fixed outside the window. "I'm working on it."

When her house crawls into view, she hesitates, her other hand firm on the bag in her lap. "Wait." She fishes out the camera Chloe had given her as the car slows to a stop.

"What the fuck is that?" His eyes narrow as he studies it. "Did you actually find a fucking polaroid camera?"

"Shut up." She leans into him, raising the camera to snap their photo. She feels him stiffen beside her, one hand grasped firmly across her waist as the flash hits them. Everything about him is rigid and she takes the photo with trembling hands. His forced smile peers out from the developing photo and it brings another smile to her lips. She doesn't even notice her photographed smile, doesn't try to pinpoint the differences, the similarities. Her eyes slide over and past it as she tucks the photo into her bag.

Nathan grabs her wrist before she can slip out of the car and sighs. "Hey," he begins, the word heavy even as he tries to play it off with a shrug, "And I meant it when I said to stay away from Graham. I don't want you around that creep."

She thinks of telling him again that she can handle it.

 _Just like you did before, right?_

She winces at the thought and Nathan immediately drops her hand.

 _It won't happen again,_ she tells herself. She clenches her jaw and meets Nathan's gaze straight on.

But then something in his face twitches, softening a millisecond before he catches it and tucks it away again.

"Yeah, okay. I will," she finds herself saying and he nods, looking away.

The truck door slams shut with a click as she makes her way inside.

* * *

"So, then I—" Chloe's voice fades out as Max's laptop screen glares white. Max pulls the screen down, frowning as she examines it. It flickers back to a shot of Chloe talking into the camera, one toe tapping the air as she lounges against her bed.

"Sorry, you cut out," Max says, settling the laptop back onto her desk.

"Again? Man, what's wrong with your laptop?" Chloe sits up with a frown.

"I don't know. My phone's been doing it, too. I thought maybe it was my phone's battery, but my laptop can't be crapping out the same way, right?"

"I don't know. Mine's never done that. Maybe you should ask not-boyfriend. He seems to know his way around electronics."

"No," Max says sharply. Her screen flickers again, this time cutting her own webcam off. She hits at the screen, even though it doesn't do anything except bring a flare of pain through her hand.

"Shit," she groans and the webcam flickers back on, grainy and out of focus.

"Max." Chloe leans forward again, squinting as she studies the screen before her.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"You should really get that looked at."

"Yeah," Max says again. The camera clears back to normal.

"What's up with you? You seem pretty out of it. I mean, more so than usual."

Max rolls her eyes. She leans back in her chair, kicking her feet up. The posters on the wall across from her flutter, knocking the post-it note from the wall. She bends to pick it up but it won't stick any longer. She places it on her desk instead, next to the polaroid she has of her and Nathan. Her finger ghosts past the image.

"I may have unfucked things," she says, glancing back towards the screen. "I don't know."

"Unfucked things," Chloe echoes, raising an eyebrow from her side of the screen. "Like of the 'fantastically fucked up' variety? The thing you mentioned when you were here?"

"Exactly that."

"Should I be worried or congratulate you?"

"Not sure yet."

"Well, congratulations on your uncertainty." Chloe casts a quick look behind her and sighs. "I've got to go. I think I'm cooking dinner tonight."

"Something wrong?"

A muffled beeping sounds behind Chloe and she sighs again. "No. Just usual stuff."

"Go," Max ushers, her mouse already hovering over the end-call button. "I'll talk to you later."

The screen closes and Max sighs herself, clicking her laptop closed. A muffled chime sounds from the speakers and she frowns before opening it back up. The screen glares white before her again.

"Max," her mom calls from outside her door. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Yeah, okay," Max replies.

Vanessa looms in the doorway, eying Max's laptop curiously. "Who were you talking to?"

Max hesitates before closing her laptop and settling it back on her desk. "Chloe," she says, almost as if it was a question.

"Oh, you got a hold of her?" Vanessa's eyebrows are practically to her hairline.

"Yeah, Warren found her. He's…good at searching for things."

"Yeah, I bet." Vanessa shakes her head. "I've seen the way he is with a computer. He's going to go places one day."

Max hums something in agreement, turning back to her desk.

"Why didn't you guys tell me? You were worrying about it for years. I mean, it's exciting, right? I'd have loved to talk to her. Or Joyce. How's she doing?"

Max groans, resting her head against her desk. "This is why. I just wanted to take my time about it. It's just…it's a lot to process, Mom."

"Right," Vanessa replies quietly. "Well, I'm here. You know, whenever." She heads back downstairs and the room is suddenly too quiet and too empty.

Max sighs and pushes away from her desk. She barely hears the muffled chime of her laptop as she heads downstairs.


	16. Chapter 16

"Do you still think they're real?" Nathan slurps at the milkshake in his hand, even though Max is fairly certain it's empty.

"What?" she asks. Her own milkshake has long been finished and she scrapes at the sides with her straw.

"Your time travel. Your powers. Your hallucinations."

Max tries to force her wince into a shrug, tries not to remember how eager she'd been when Warren had accepted her words. So readily. She should have wanted him to pause, to throw up the same questions Nathan had, to make her pick at everything till it was dissected before her.

"I don't know," she admits. "Striving for the moment here, remember?"

 _The moment_ was becoming some monumental thing, something far bigger than _the future,_ something far more graspable than _the past._ The moment wasn't intimidating, could include anything and everything. It could include nothing at all. It included _here_ , which was much more narrow a concept than she wanted to believe.

"For the moment, do you think they're real?" Nathan prods.

"For the moment," she shrugs, "I talked to Chloe last night. I made an apple pie with my mom. My dad remembered some story about where he ran into Fiona Apple at a coffee shop."

"You're really missing the point of 'in the moment' here."

"But it felt real. Like something I could have done months or years ago, like something that could happen months or years from now. Like I want it to happen now. Like I'm sitting here with you, drinking a milkshake, and I want it to happen and I don't want anything to change it."

"You're getting emotional on me again."

When Nathan smiled, it was a declaration of authority. It was meant to make you feel beneath him, to feel like you were the punchline of his joke. It was meant to show that he found you amusing, not what you were saying. It was meant to push you away.

When Nathan smiled, it was to force humor into something serious. It was to keep himself from getting dragged too deeply into something he couldn't pull himself out of.

Max had seen these two smiles over and over during the course of their friendship. She had seen him slip into them, tucked in tight around the corners. She had seen him slip out of them.

And then there was this smile—cautious and warm, a shadow against his lips.

The straw pauses in her grasp and she finds herself unable to look away. She feels drawn to it, the way it seems to beckon in contrast to his words.

"I'm being honest," she replies.

"Whatever," he says, the smile still at his lips. He flicks his straw at her, sending droplets of spit her way.

"Gross." She dodges away but he simply flicks it again. She tries to grab it from him, but he raises it away from her reach easily.

"You've got a problem with spit, Caulfield?" he asks. His eyebrows raise in perfect conjunction with his smile.

"You're disgusting." She uses her sleeve to wipe off the worst of the droplets. "Don't," she warns when he lowers the straw, preparing to flick it again.

He flicks it anyway.

She shrieks and pounces on him, wrenching the straw from him and tossing it to the backseat of the truck.

Nathan laughs, almost as open as his smile. "You didn't have a problem with it the other day," he says. His voice has dropped to a rumble and Max smacks him softly on the chest. He grabs hold of her hand while his other wraps around her waist.

She feels the blush spread down her neck. Her whole body feels flushed. "You're disgusting," she repeats.

"Okay," he agrees and ducks down to kiss her.

She smacks him with her other hand and he laughs again. His breath tickles against her lips.

When he leans back, she sees the second smile start to creep in, the note of humor as the rest of his face grows serious.

"So, no time travel?"

"For the moment." Max pulls her own straw free from the cup, bending it between her fingers.

Nathan tugs it from her. He bites down on one end as he regards her wordlessly.

"What?" she asks, trying to grab her straw back.

He dodges her attempts, chewing at the piece in his mouth. "If you could," he says from around the straw, "if you could go somewhere else, where would you go?"

Max thinks of Arcadia Bay, of Blackwell, her dorm, her photo wall that feels like a mural painted over so many times that the lines are muddy and blurred.

"The beach," she decides, not thinking of the boardwalk, or Oregon, or anything removed from this timeline. Instead, she thinks of chasing seagulls at thirteen, fourteen. A beach within an hour's reach, where she and her parents had vacationed before Max found the outside world too much effort to enjoy.

Her knee jerks forward and she drops her cup. She'd recalled a memory from here. Something unprompted and easy to recall as making apple pie last night. Something she hadn't dreamt.

 _How long have I been doing that?_ she wonders, but Nathan is already reversing the car, fingers determined as he switches gears.

"Who the fuck," he says, pulling her from her thoughts, "is Fiona Apple?"

Max laughs and plugs her phone into his radio. She only manages thirty seconds of "Criminal" before he revokes her radio privileges again.

The city folds away before them, opening up to blue sky and the telltale scatter of sand.

Max leans forward, close enough that she can almost press her hand against the windshield. She can practically hear the seagulls overhead and the crash of the waves against the shoreline.

"Where are all the people?" she asks.

"Private lot. My parents own it. Haven't been out this way in a while though."

"Really?" She tries to picture Nathan coming out here as a child, running through the sand, or chasing the waves on the shore. She can't.

"It was more for equity than enjoying the beach."

"How can you not enjoy this? It's beautiful," she proclaims.

Nathan shrugs, pulling at the skin of his bottom lip. "It's not really my thing. I don't do this shit."

"Afraid you'll get burnt up by the sun? Swallowed by a giant fish? Step on a pointy rock?" She grins at him and he shakes his head, scowling.

"I have no problems leaving you here and going back home."

"This is amazing," she whispers and she can feel rather than see the mask slip again.

"No, it's not," he says.

She shoves him lightly, but the way he looks down at her makes her pause. There is no amusement in his eyes. There is something deeper, darker, that she can't read; they're like a pot just barely boiling over. Then it falls flat, his gaze, the tension in his knuckles as he parks the car, his smile. "Come on," he says instead.

She tries not to watch him when he shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons his cardigan. She tries not to notice the way the sun flashes against his pale chest after he yanks off his t-shirt or the line of his spine as he kicks his pants off. She tries not to notice the way his boxers cling to him once he dives in. There's too much to focus on anyway and it startles her that she didn't think to bring her camera with her to capture it all.

She digs her feet into the wet sand at her feet, watching as the waves etch away at her footprints. She's shimmied out of her pants but leaves her shirt on, tugging the hem to cover her underwear.

"What are you waiting for?" he asks. "You're gonna keep your shirt on?" He smirks at her, and she purposely keeps her eyes on his face.

"No. Yes. I mean, it's not like I have anything swimming appropriate," she tries to explain and he walks out of the water, splattering water against the sand.

"Come on," he says, grabbing hold of her hands and tugging her towards the water.

"Yeah, but…" She's briefly reminded of the time she and Chloe had snuck into the pool at Blackwell. It hadn't taken much to send her diving into the water there. But the surge of adrenaline that pulses in her bones now feels like a completely different beast. It makes her suddenly more aware of her body. She sighs and turns her back to him, pulling her shirt off and tossing it aside before she can change her mind. She crosses her arms over her chest and he grabs hold of her hands again, tugging her back.

"Are those…flowers?" Nathan peers down at her and she kicks him, sending a splash of water that hits mostly her.

"Shut up. This is exactly my point." She scowls, tangled limbs in his grasp.

He snorts. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." She glowers at him, pulling forth another gleeful laugh from him. "It's cute, though."

She dives out of his grasp and perches herself on the shore, away from his reach. The sand is warm beneath her toes.

He holds up his hands in open surrender, even as he grins at her.

An easy, default gesture. A different set of arms tossed up between them.

The gesture catches off guard and the sand slips between her toes as she slips. She wonders if she'll ever stop finding parallels. She doesn't head back into the water. Instead, she peers across the waves, watching them roll lazily onto the shore.

Nathan watches her curiously.

"I used to love going to the beach when I was little," she says. The waves break and pull and away and it feels as if her words are going out to see as well. "We don't go much anymore."

"There's not much to miss," he replies. "Except a quiet place to be alone."

"Well, yeah, when you have your own beach."

He rolls his eyes.

"When I was a kid," she continues, closing her eyes, "I used to pretend I was queen of the fish and all the other fish, the seaweed, whatever, they were all my court."

Nathan snorts, kicking at the waves. "Queen of the fish, right."

"Hey, it was a very respectable title. They all looked up to me."

"You're fucking weird, crazy bitch. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Thanks, I'm flattered," she says, rolling her own eyes.

"So how about now? Are you still queen of the fish?"

"I think I grew into my legs a long time ago," she replies, dragging her foot through a slight wave.

"Hmm." He glances up at the sky, watching a seagull soar past. "I wouldn't mind flying, though."

She closes her eyes again, feeling the breeze sift across her arms. "It's too much, flying," she replies, her eyes falling open.

He lifts his fingers through the breeze, his own eyes twisted shut. "This is too much?" he asks. "Because I don't think it's enough."

She doesn't answer, just watches as the waves crash at her feet again.

"I feel like I could stay out here forever," she finally says.

"Maybe we could," he replies, standing beside her.

"Nah, we'd have to go back for food and stuff at some point."

Nathan shrugs. "Maybe I brought some."

"We'd still run out eventually."

"I've got money."

"Just run away to the beach," Max muses, her eyes sliding closed once more. "Relive _Gilligan's Island_ or something."

"What?"

Max laughs, glancing up at him. "One day, we're going to have a marathon on all the classics. TV. Movies. Music."

"Then I'll have to take away your TV privileges, too."

"It's for a good cause."

"There's a TV at the beach house."

The teasing smile falls from her face as she studies him, as she remembers the stuffed duffel bag in his car. "Are you being serious?"

"I'm not saying anything." But his eyes are searching hers and she doesn't know how to answer him.

Max closes her eyes and inhales sharply. Even the heavy sea air can't seem to bring her senses back. "Okay, well, today I'm queen of the fish. And that's all that matters right now."

He reaches for her, arms sliding up to brace against her waist, and kisses her. She can taste the lingering of salt water against his lips and then it's gone as they part and capture hers. This kiss is nothing like the one at the park. Like the one in the car. There is nothing cautious about it. Nothing quick. It's his sharp angles against hers, her nerves ripped and splayed across her skin. It clouds her lungs. His lips demand hers to move with his rhythm, and then plead. But he slows when she does, when the sun is almost as bright as a street lamp above her, when the first rise of anxiety washes over her.

He pulls away to look down at her.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I just…can we take it slow for now?"

He frowns as the corner of his mouth ticks in response.

And then he runs into the water, letting the waves crash over him.

"What are you doing?" Max yells after him. The waves roar in reply and she chases after them. But the waves catch her before they catch him and she falls head first into them.

She gasps as she resurfaces, spying Nathan bobbing several feet from her, grinning. Sea water burns her throat and eyes and she pushes her hair back.

"You're a fucking natural," he calls out to her.

She tries to dart after him, but the waves pick up again. She spits out sand and water as she comes back up.

Nathan cackles as she sends a splash of water in his direction. "You look good drowning, Caulfield," he says when she pulls herself free of the waves.

She scowls, making to shove him back into the water, but he catches hold of her, his fingers trailing down the bare skin of her back.

It's always difficult to tell when he's joking and when he's flirting. The two always blur into one another, the accompanying smile as autonomous as blinking. She's never sure until his lips are pressing reassurance against hers. She half expects him to pull away, as if everything is suddenly too much. Sometimes she feels like it's too much herself.

Then, he does pull away, the pads of his fingers gone from her back.

"Thanks, I'll just keep tossing myself into the water for your amusement then," she retorts, ignoring the drop of water that trails down the path his fingers had been just a moment before.

He grins down at her, tugging her towards the water, and she shrieks and pulls away, scrambling for the safety of the dry towel behind her.

When she's free, lying breathless and soaked on the towel beneath her, she catches the muffled ringing of her phone. She fishes it from her bag and sees Chloe's number on the screen. She grins as she answers it.

"Hey, you'll never believe what I'm doing right now," she greets but it's not Chloe's voice that responds.

"Max, I'm sorry to call you like this," Joyce's voice cuts through and Max shoots up straight into a sitting position. "I just wanted to let you know there's been an accident—and she's fine, Chloe's fine—but she's in the hospital and will probably be there for a few more days." There's a rustle against the phone and she hears Joyce blow her nose from a further distance before coming back, her voice hoarser. "You don't have to come see her. She's just got a few broken bones, but I wanted to let you know. She probably won't be texting anytime soon."

"What happened?" Max whispers and somehow her voice sounds hoarser than Joyce's. The phone nearly slides out of her hand.

"Just a car accident. It was...well, the car's totaled." Her voice cracks again but she rushes on. "She'll be fine, though."

"I'll be there," Max replies, and even though she's still whispering, her voice roars in her ears. This time when the phone slides from her fingers, she lets it.

"Max."

Chloe's voice calls out to her from the waves, an echo beneath their roar. She sees Chloe's head bob over the waves, eyes lifeless then not there at all—a corpse staring through her. A hand reaching out to her, fingers clawing the air for purchase, then bone dropping into the water.

Max doesn't feel her feet as she walks back out to the shoreline. She can't even feel the water creeping over her toes. What she does feel catching up to her comes too much, too quickly—the past timelines, the waves, Nathan's footsteps as he's running towards her because she's running into the waves now. She feels the water tug her feet out from under her, feels herself floating, sinking, falling. She feels the skeletal hand grab her and pull her under, Chloe's voice still calling to her even though it's muddled by the water.

Then she feels wet skin against her own. Nathan's arms grab her and pull her back towards him, back towards the shore. When she collapses back onto her weight, leaning against his chest, he looks down at her, wide-eyed. "What the fuck, Max?"

"She's dead," she says, spitting salt water from her mouth. She points out to the water, where nothing but the slap of easy waves moves. "I mean, no. She's not dead, right? She was just in an accident." A flash of truck slamming into Chloe's car, into Chloe's truck, Chloe's truck rolling before crashing into a ditch.

 _What did Joyce say happen?_

She can't pull the details together.

"I think I did it. I put Chloe in the hospital. She's going to die. Maybe not this time. But next time—" She cuts herself off, looking around her wildly, all the possible scenarios pushing into place like legos before her.

"What the fuck happened?" he asks, pulling her back towards him.

She tugs herself free from his grasp, walking towards the shoreline, but not in.

"Come on," he says, behind her again, catching her when her legs give out.

"What if I did it?" she asks, but he's already shuffling her towards the truck, pushing her inside, and when he climbs in on the other side, cranking up the heat, she realizes her teeth are chattering. The heat does nothing to help.

She doesn't remember the ride there. She doesn't even remember asking Nathan to take her. Her phone is in her hand, and she knows she's called her mom to let her know what's going on, but she doesn't know what she's said.

The sun is already setting by the time they make it to the hospital and she rushes out of the car towards the door, pausing only when Nathan doesn't move.

"Aren't you coming?" she asks when he stares stonily ahead.

"I can't do hospitals. There's too much..." He shrugs. "I only come when I need to."

She stares back at him silently. Her bra and underwear are still wet beneath her clothes. She shivers in the evening air.

He sighs and slides out of the truck. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it towards her. "You're gonna freeze, dumbass."

She zips it unsteadily and turns towards the hospital that while she's never stepped foot near, or even dreamed of, bleeds familiarity. The hospital light spills sharply in front of her as she rushes in. Everything is shrill beeps and shouts that sound too loud in the quiet hallways. When they find Chloe's room, she almost sees Chloe strapped to a ventilator, a bandage wrapped around a head injury, a sheet pulled over a corpse. But she's perched above a mountain of pillows behind her back. One arm and one leg are in casts. Her other arm is in a sling, swollen, but seemingly unbroken.

Max rushes forward, squeezing herself between the injuries and wrapping her in a hug. "What the fuck did you do?" she whispers and Chloe laughs sardonically.

"I thought I'd fuck myself up so I'd have nothing to do this summer," she says and nods towards the TV. "Can you change the channel? It's been stuck on this stupid infomercial for a while now and I'm about to go insane."

Max searches for the remote but comes up empty handed and frowns at the TV mounted too high above her.

"I got it," Nathan mutters from where he'd been looming in the doorway, scratching at his arms, and looking once again as if he's ready to bolt down the hall. He reaches past Max, fumbling with the buttons until the couple modeling spoons switches to a movie.

It's Blade Runner.

Max collapses into the chair behind her and she can't tell if the small _whoosh_ is from the chair cushion or her own chest. Both feel remarkably empty.

She feels the room transform, the scratch of Chloe's blanket against her leg, the hum of her ventilator.

Max leans forward so far, she almost topples out of her chair.

"Ah, yes," Chloe says, closing her eyes and laying her head back a moment before jerking it back up wide-eyed. "Who's this? Not-boyfriend number two?" She eyes Nathan who stares challengingly back and her lip quirks into a smile. "Maybe not." Then she frowns as she takes in his t-shirt and designer jeans, the semi-dry hair that has curled lazily on the ride up.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" He scowls, crossing his arms over his chest.

"And a winning personality to boot. I see why you picked him over Ned, Max. Don't tell me this is the guy of the 'fantastically fucked-up' variety."

Max presses one hand to a temple and lets her head drop into her other hand. "He's not..." She can feel Nathan's gaze on her and squeezes her shoulders into a shrug. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

"I am amazing. That might be the pain-killers talking, but I'm okay. Should be home in a couple days and my right arm should heal pretty quickly. Stuck in these casts for a while though."

"Shit, Chloe," Max says into her hands.

Nathan pulls out the other chair next to hers and sits down, frowning at her. "You heard her. She's fine. You didn't do anything."

But Max shakes her head, looking up at the heart monitor that beeps almost lazily next to Chloe.

"Could do with a new car though," Chloe says, her voice slightly slurred. Her head is nodding off to the side, eyes already closed. "Hey, not-boyfriend number two, you think you can swing a car my way? You look like you've got the cash."

Nathan scoffs, his eyes darting around the room, the fluorescent lights overhead, the TV above them, the nurses walking past the door. "I'm going out for a smoke," he says, pushing away from his chair. Max catches his gaze and she can't tell if the panic she sees reflected back is his or hers.

"I'll be outside," he says. "Come get me when you're ready."

Chloe opens one eye and smiles at Max as if she's sharing some hidden secret. "I never pegged you for a gold digger," she says and Max laughs despite herself.

"Seriously? You're impossible," she says, scooting her chair towards the bed.

"Are you cereal?" Chloe asks, smile growing wider. She kicks at the blanket with her free leg, offering Max a corner, and Max feels the tingling rush of déjà vu again, cold and sharp at the back of her mind.

Max scoffs in pretend offense. "Sure thing, chicken wing," she says, just as easily as she would have five years ago.

Chloe groans. "So lame. I was hoping you outgrew the cheesy lines."

"Never," Max says, a small smile at her own lips.

"Thanks for coming," Chloe says sleepily. "I needed a friendly face. Mom was freaking out and crying all over the place, especially when she saw what the car looked like. It's a good thing you didn't run into her on the way up here. She would have been crying on you, too." She frowns again as she stares at the door, as if she's trying to remember something. "Oh, coffee. She went to get coffee."

"You're okay?" Max asks again and Chloe nods unsteadily.

"'S long as you're here. I think I might be nodding off in a minute though." She's barely finished her sentence before her head has drifted back towards the pillow.

A sad smile tugs at Max's lips.

She sits under the corner of the blanket Chloe offered her, watching the credits of Blade Runner scroll by. The screen turns blue with lines of static bursting through before turning off. Chloe snores softly beside her.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, patting the leg next to her that isn't wrapped in a cast. "I'll fix this somehow."

The door clicks open as Joyce slips in, steam rising from the coffee cup in her hand. "Oh, Max. You startled me," she says, nearly spilling her cup. "When did you drop in?"

Max smiles apologetically. "Not too long ago. She just fell asleep. How are you holding up?"

Joyce lets out a short laugh and settles into the chair Max had been in earlier. "You think you get used to it, this rollercoaster. But then there's just another drop every time you go around." She pats Max's knee and takes a sip from her coffee. "You can go home if you want. She'll probably be out for a while. She's been fighting the meds since they gave them to her."

"Always stubborn," Max says, still smiling.

"That's our Chloe. You can stop by when she gets settled at home."

"You can just have her call me if she can," Max replies, rising to unsteady feet.

Max doesn't like the way Joyce's brows furrow as she takes in Max's words, her clothing, the years she'd left behind. But then Joyce smiles and nods, hugging her tightly enough that Max doesn't think she'll let go.

It takes her a while to find Nathan, and for one brief moment, she thinks maybe he's driven off. Then she sees him standing under the streetlamp, the flame of his lighter flickering on and off in his hand.

"Hey," she says, joining him.

He glances towards her, nodding, before walking towards the truck.

She follows hesitantly.

"You didn't do it," he repeats once they're on the road. "Shit happens. I mean, if you look for it, you can find patterns in anything. It doesn't mean shit," he says, scratching his nose.

Max sighs, staring out the window and trying to ignore the light of the streetlamps whizzing past them. "I see them everywhere," she says quietly. "The patterns. It's like they find themselves."

"It gets better," he replies.

"What if it doesn't? It happens even when I'm not looking for it. Sometimes, just the light flickering overhead is enough to remind me of something. Sometimes, I lose track of what happened here or in the other timeline and it makes me feel like I'm not even myself anymore. And I can't help but think there has to be a reason." She feels her words pick up speed, careen out of control. "In the other timeline, I had a giant impending tornado to remind me of that. And what if…what if something is going to happen here? What if it already has and I'm just not looking in the right direction? The tornado's in the wrong spot or it's something other than a double moon in the sky. What if Chloe's accident wasn't the only warning?"

"Double moon in the sky?" Nathan repeats, his hand hovering beside his nose.

"I see things that don't belong in any of the timelines. Things I didn't dream. Chloe gets into an accident and I see her fucking corpse at the beach. I don't know what do with that. Why do I see her? How can I stop it?" She knows she's yelling now, but she doesn't care. There are too many questions crowding her head and she needs to say them before they'll flood over.

Nathan pulls over and turns towards her, grabbing hold of her shoulders. "Stop. First, just stop. You just saw your friend in the goddamn hospital. And that's after the shit you've gone through. You're panicking." His eyes scan her face then fix on the window behind her. "You're not skipping your meds or anything, did you?"

"No, why…" She trails off, remembering the nightmare from Warren's car, how vivid it been without her medication blocking it. "No. I didn't forget them this time." She tries to backtrack, to think if she'd somehow slipped up, but she distinctly remembers taking them the morning before, especially because she'd spilled her juice all over the table afterwards.

"This time?" Nathan's gaze swings back to hers and he frowns. "What do you mean this time?"

"Don't worry about it," she mutters, trying to push him away again. "Things were kind of muddled when I was looking for Chloe."

"Max." He sighs and squeezes her shoulders. "I will glue that fucking pill bottle to your forehead if I need to."

"I didn't forget them," she insists. She remembers how everything seemed to crowd around her when she'd forgotten her pills, how things had blurred at the edges. The nightmare had been so vivid, the details like something pulled from a movie. She could still recall the way Nathan's face had screamed at her from the whiteboard, the glint of Warren's knife. She wonders if it would always be that way. There had been so many times she'd wondered if stopping the medication would pull the veil out from across her eyes. If she would see what had been there all along.

 _Would I have still seen Chloe's corpse sinking?_

"Nathan," Max begins, "what else happened when you stopped taking your meds?"

"What do you mean?" He pauses and in the dim light, she catches him studying her again. "Like when I was looking for my dream girl?"

"You said you saw everything but her. What did you see?"

He clicks his tongue and looks away. "Nothing that would give you answers."

"Maybe it would, though," she counters. "I want to see it, whatever happened before."

"Do you?" His hands drop to run past her arms, settle onto her own. "Even after it sent you onto a roof?"

"If I can't rewind…if I never could…maybe, this could tell me something. This is better than analyzing dreams, right? Untapped subconscious directly in front of me. Untapped reality."

"Those aren't the same thing," Nathan says slowly.

"No, but think about it. It makes sense if you think about it. You don't know, Nathan. You don't know how many times I've seen people die. What the hell does that mean?"

 _How many times_

 _How many times_

 _How many people have you seen die?_

Her words echo in her head, rearrange themselves. She tries to shake them free.

Max falls quiet, laying her head against the window. The glass bumps lightly against her temple. She can't stop the panic from crowding her brain. It's as if something is dangling right in front of her and she can't grasp it. Something important. Something not quite invisible.

"What if it's you next?" she finally asks.

"No," he says. "Max, you're not thinking clearly. Chloe's not going to die. I'm not going to die. Nothing is happening."

"I saw it," she repeats. "I saw her dead in the water. There was nothing left. Bones. Floating. Calling out to me."

"Because you're freaking out now, Max. Just stop and fucking listen to me, okay?" He exhales sharply. "Okay, you wanna know what happens? It's not fun. There's withdrawal effects, Max. Sometimes they get bad. It's not sleeping for weeks and thinking the walls are falling in. It's trying to punch through a few walls. Maybe a person or two. It's fucked up. Everything around you is not real even when it's staring at you and breathing. And it's _not real._ " He pulls his hands away and bites at a hangnail.

"I can't do this," he says. His hands dig into wherever he can find purchase—the seat beneath him, the knees of his jeans, the disarray of his hair. "It's like when..." His hand drifts to his arm, scratching. "You said you were going to talk to Doctor White. That you were gonna face it. That you wouldn't, I don't know, do _this._ " He stares forward. "I don't have all the answers, Max. I know that scares the shit out of you. I mean, fuck. It scares the shit out of everyone. But you can't reason your way out of this. Bad shit happens and you have to deal. Nothing is going to change that. Nothing."

"I don't know how, though." She turns to him, eyes wide. She grabs at his hand, grasping it between her own, trying to focus on its weight. "I don't know how to fix anything. I'm trying to piece things together but everything keeps breaking more and more apart. I feel like I'm fucking losing it. Like that one day none of this will be real. How the fuck do I know you're really here beside me and I'm not just fucking crazy?"

She doesn't know when she's leaned into him or if he was the one who had pulled her into him. But his arms are around her and his breath is warm against her ear. "You're not crazy, okay?"

"Are you telling that to 'crazy bitch'?" Max muffles into his shirt.

"Come on, Max. You know I just say that to fuck with you. It doesn't mean anything. You're not crazy."

Max feels the adrenaline begin to ebb away, the streetlamp outside buzz brighter, his arms heavy against her. "Yeah," she says, looking down. The last of the adrenaline fades, leaving a heaviness in her stomach instead. "Yeah, sure."

He pulls away and starts the car again. Everything sounds too loud and yet too quiet. Nathan fidgets in the growing silence.

"Why do you hate hospitals?" she asks when she can't take the fidgeting anymore. To change the subject to something else.

He flicks on his blinker harshly, avoiding her gaze. "Too many bad memories. Too many fuck ups." He scratches at his arm again and when she sees the lines that crisscross against his skin, faded and shining in the flicker of street lights, she falls silent again.

She huddles into his jacket, forgetting, for the moment, that she was wearing it. There's a husky, dark scent to it—stale cigarette smoke and cologne and something else she can't quite discern. "Nathan," she says and his gaze flicks towards her minutely. She thinks vaguely of her mother's questions on the phone, when she'd told her she was on the way to the hospital.

" _Chloe? What's going on? Do you need me to come up there?"_

" _I'm not alone, Mom. I've got Nathan. Joyce will be there. I'll call you."_

" _I think you should come home."_

"I don't want to go home," Max says.

"Okay," Nathan says, stretching out the word. "Okay, then."

The roads turn unfamiliar before her, the passing buildings looming like shadows across her. He turns on the radio, flicks it off when there's nothing on, flicks it on again when Max doesn't say anything. He settles on a rap station that doesn't bleed as much static as the other stations. "Too far from the towers," he mutters.

He pulls into the parking lot of an abandoned store and shuts the car off. He leans back in the seat, staring out the dark window.

Max waits for him to start the car, to get out, to move towards her. But he only sits, his hands loose at his side, his eyes fixed outside the windshield.

"What are we doing?" she asks and he turns towards her with a flicker of a smile.

"You said you didn't want to go home."

"So…now what?"

His smile grows slightly and he finally pushes open the door to step out. He heads to the bed of the truck, grabbing hold of a pile of blankets.

"What are you doing?" Max asks, much more hesitant to leave the warmth of the truck.

He shakes out one of the heavier blankets and looks back at her. "What do you think?" The truck creaks as he jumps into the bed and leans back.

"I don't know. I thought we'd go somewhere else or something." She leans against the side of the truck, pulling his jacket closer to her, and peers down at him.

"Max, you look like an extra from _The Walking Dead._ I don't think you're going anywhere. I feel pretty fucked myself."

She does feel tired. The day's events wear heavily in her bones and even the heavy blanket beside Nathan looks comfortable.

He sits up, holding a hand out towards her. "Come on, Caulfield. There's nobody out here. Nothing's gonna happen."

She reaches slowly for his hand. "I'm telling my mom I'm staying at the hospital for the night."

"Yeah, okay." He helps her over the side and she settles down next to him. He tosses another blanket into her lap.

"You do this often?" she asks, eyeing the diminishing pile of blankets.

"Sometimes," he says, a trace of a smirk at his lips. "Beats stewing in my head at home. Sometimes, I just need a change of scenery. White noise." He waves around him, indicating the murmuring of crickets.

Max leans back and gazes up at the few stars ahead, the ones she'd seen back at the warehouse, but rearranged differently. Or maybe a different collection all together. "There aren't many stars here," she says, "in Seattle."

"Well, yeah. There usually aren't." Nathan gives her an odd glance before following her gaze.

"Outside the city, though, you take them for granted."

"In dream land, you mean?"

"I could see them for miles when we went to find Chloe."

Nathan hums something in annoyance and toys with the edge of her blanket. "I bet there's loads here you take for granted, too."

"Are you lecturing me again?" She raises an eyebrow and fishes her phone out to text her mom. "I'm not trying to distance myself from anyone."

"Good." He's suddenly a lot nearer, tugging on her blanket so that it pulls her even closer. His lips ghost across her forehead, trail down towards her lips.

She raises her head to press her lips more firmly against his. Her arms wrap around him and he mirrors her actions, even though his muscles are tight and stiff against her.

He gives in to her kiss, letting her press against him for a few more moments before pulling away. "Get some sleep, Max," he says, his voice rougher than it had been a few moments ago.

She leans into him, trying to soften the muscles tense around her. She buries her head into the blanket beneath her and sleep fills in the spaces she can't.


	17. Chapter 17

Max's shoe catches on a broken bottle and she trips, falling heavily to the ground. She feels something dig sharply into her hand and jerks it away. Blood dots across the wound when she peers down at it. Whatever she'd tripped over pokes out from the ground, a scrap of fabric tied to it. No, not tied to, she realizes, when she leans closer. It's caught on something. The piece that had cut her is rigid and splintered. She'd mistaken it for a stick, but it's too white and much harder than wood.

 _Bone._

She scrambles away from it, holding her hand to her chest. She runs off towards the other end of the junkyard and it's by an old car that Warren finds her, practically shouting her name as he stands in front of her.

"Did you even hear me calling?"

She looks blankly past him.

"What's wrong?" He bends down so that he's eye-level with her.

"There's…" She trails off when she meets his eyes. He has always met her gaze with a calmness and ease that she envies, no matter how stressful the situation. Even when his tone says differently, when his – _it's okay. Don't worry, it's okay –_ his eyes have always been an open reassurance. Now they stare back at her with an edge of panic.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," she says, looking past him again. "I thought I heard a wolf."

"There aren't any wolves around here," Warren says slowly.

She lets out a laugh that feels more like a sigh. "No," she says. "Of course not."

* * *

"Chloe."

Max sees the body bobbing across the waves again, the eyes that stare at her and through her before the water pulls her under. When she resurfaces, a skeletal grin greets her, stripped and frozen with all of Chloe's softness rotted away.

Max tries to pull her arms through the water and reach for her, but everything is taught and resistant, as if she's moving through mud.

And when she pulls her arms free, it's mud that slides down her skin, not water. Lightning rips across the sky, illuminating the muddy landscape around her.

The junkyard. She's back in the junkyard.

She's knee-deep in mud, her hands clawing at the ground before her. Everything is cold and wet around her. It's raining hard enough that the mud almost peels away from her hands as fast as they grow dirty. She can barely pull the mud away; the hole she'd made is quickly filling with water. But she'd uncovered enough to see the thin stretch of bone, the tattered plaid of a shirt quickly becoming plastered to it.

 _Rachel._

The name comes brokenly, like static on a radio. But the color is wrong, the pattern different, the shirt unfamiliar yet still somehow familiar.

 _Tess. Lauren._

 _Sam._

A wiry brunette in her seventh-grade history class. Thick-framed glasses that Warren liked to pull loose and park onto the top of his own head with a crooked grin.

But that can't be right. She hadn't gone to junior high with Warren. She had barely acknowledged him the first three years of high school.

 _I didn't know him then. Had I?_

She can't remember back far enough. She can't remember anything except rain and mud and running.

She hears the groan of an engine behind her and runs now, feet slapping in mud that seems to pull her back.

 _Tess. Lauren. Sam. Max._

 _Max._

 _Max. Max. Max._

* * *

"Max! Max, wake up. Come on."

Something is shaking her. She feels her head bump against metal and it jerks her awake. She groans and bats away hands gripping her shoulders. "What's going on?" she asks and her throat feels raspy and dry.

 _Of course not. Of course not._

"Hey," a voice overrides her own and she's pulled into a hard chest, a stammering of rain pressing into her ears. It isn't until she hears the hitch of a breath rise beneath her cheek, that she realizes it's Nathan's heartbeat, not rain. "Knock it off. I've got you."

When she looks up, he looks away, blinking quickly. "You were screaming." He still holds onto her despite her trying to swat him away. "Like a goddamn banshee." His eyes are wide and his face pale. He swallows thickly and squeezes her shoulders.

"Nightmare," she says. She rubs at her eyes, but everything is already fading. The only thing she can still hold onto is the strong smell of rain, the mud against her fingers, but even that's starting to fade. The details aren't as vivid this time.

"Chloe?" he asks.

"Yeah," she says, rubbing her eyes again. "Wait, no. Something else. I was digging for something."

The sun has already broken through, everything alight in pink and pulling away the shadows that had bathed the truck the night before.

"I guess after last night, you would have another nightmare," Nathan says. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I think so. No. I don't know. After last time, I was hoping not to have another of these."

"And you wanted to drop the meds."

Max scowls up at him. "I still remember the one from last time."

Max tries to sit up, but Nathan pushes her back down, his eyes scanning her face.

"What happened last time?"

"You know," she says, trying to push him away again, "the usual fucked up shit. Except I thought I rewound to the other timeline. Everything felt so real. I mean, the dreams usually do. But last time was different somehow. The whole damn place was in flames. I could feel the heat of it."

Nathan falls silent, frowning. "What did you dream this time?'

"I don't know," she admits. "I can't remember most of it. I think I was trying to find something. And Warren…he might have been there."

"Warren," Nathan says, his frown more of a scowl. "Do you usually scream like that?"

"I don't usually dream like that," she retorts.

He studies her, as if he's afraid she's going to start screaming again.

"I'm okay." She finds his hand and squeezes it lightly.

He squeezes it in return and pulls away, resting against the side of the truck bed. He fishes a cigarette from his pocket and lights it, humming softly. "Home?" he finally asks.

"I don't know," she answers and lays her head back down, closing her eyes.

"You stay here long enough and the birds will probably shit on your face."

Her eyes snap open and he smirks down at her, even though it doesn't reach his eyes.

He hops over the side and walks back to front. "We should head back anyway."

"Yeah," Max says and rubs at a sore muscle near her shoulder. She doesn't know why, but part of her wants him to keep driving, that the duffel bag behind his seat would mean something more than an option. That everything inside her head could tumble out and be left behind like gravel underneath his tires. "Yeah, we should."

"It's not good," he says, "if you're having dreams like that again."

Max huddles underneath one of the blankets she'd taken inside the truck. "I know." Her mind is reeling, trying to piece together the few fragments she remembers. None of them fit here. None of them fit from before. Aside from remembering her earlier sight of Chloe's body, there are no monsters or faces splitting open, no walls of words trying to point her in the right direction. It's almost as if she's trying to remember something she didn't experience, trying to tap into someone else's memories.

 _Some other Max's memories._

She stops squirming from beneath the blanket, her back straight against the seat.

"What?" Nathan asks from beside her. "What's wrong?"

 _How many more timelines are out there? What if I'm trying to remember all of them, whether I was there or not?_ She frantically tries to string everything together again. She reaches for her bag, pulling out her journal and flipping through the pages. Looking for some kind of pattern, some kind of hint, something. Nothing seems to fit. Maybe it was just run-off after all—her brain trying to get rid of the stress from the day.

"Max?"

She pauses in mid-flip, glancing back at Nathan to see his eyes wide and looking shaken again. She wonders if she's wearing a similar expression. "Nothing. Sorry." She lets the book fall back into her bag.

"For what?"

"For freaking out again."

Nathan's hand finds hers again and runs his thumb across her knuckles. "This," he murmurs and squeezes her hand. "This is real."

She stares down at his hand, the calloused knuckles and an old scar winding between them. She watches his hand rise and fall with his breath, the warmth of it spreading through her own. "Not the dream," she says, willing truth to work into the words, into her head.

 _Everything bends from truth._ Dr. White's voice slides across her thoughts, words she doesn't remember but feel familiar regardless. _Sometimes we try to rewrite it, but things get tangled around it instead. Like ivy wrapped around a fence. Ivy can't remove the fence. It can only cover it._

 _So, how do I remove the ivy?_ Max's voice asks.

 _You have to be the one to remove the fence, Max. Not the ivy. You have to acknowledge the fence in the first place._

"Not the dream," Max repeats, squeezing Nathan's hand once more.

* * *

Max sits at her desk, her laptop open before her. She spends several minutes opening her browser, only to close it again before she can type anything. When she finally manages to pull something up, she stares at the screen before her.

 _anti-psychotic withdrawals,_ one tab reads.

 _Types of hallucinogens,_ another reads.

 _Repressed memories._ This one she'd typed even more reluctantly. The others were doors, doors too far for her to consider. Doors where she wanted to know what was on the other side without actually opening them.

 _Do I want to open them?_

No. Some doors shouldn't be opened.

And the other, the last tab, covered in ivy and trying so desperately to be forgotten, abandoned. That door should never be opened.

 _What door though? What door?_

If she even tries to pinpoint it, it fades away. There is only a wall where it might be, dreams, rewinds, and hallucinations as far as the hallway runs. All of them seem to glare back at her like an accusation. Her hand hovers over the mouse.

"Don't look at me like that," she mutters. "This is ridiculous." Even though most of the dream has faded away, she can still feel the mud on her hands, the rain soaking into her shirt. She wonders again how much more she could remember, how much more she could see if she could pull the veil free from her eyes.

But it's too easy to see Nathan all shaking and wild eyes as he pushes through his own ghosts. Nathan who had so vehemently shoved aside her own suggestion when he had probably chased after a dozen types of highs.

She doesn't really want to open that door. She doesn't want to pull the ivy away. She doesn't want to stare through it with eyes that can't see the truth of this world through the past of another. She doesn't want to mess with her head any more than it already has been.

 _You have to acknowledge the fence in the first place._

 _But where is the fence?_

She yanks her hand away from the mouse. "No." She slams her laptop closed and stares at the window instead. _There has to be another way._

Kate's having another study session on her back porch. Her and Warren's voices carry softly through the window.

Max opens her laptop again, steepling her fingers beneath her chin. There's a clue somewhere, the start of a path that she just had to follow, somewhere the ivy ends. She pulls her journal free from her bag and flips through it again. Warren's name jumps out at her, bold when it shouldn't be. So many of her dreams had circled through him.

 _I'm just the messenger, right?_ he'd said.

 _Messenger to what, though?_ she thinks.

 _You know I'd never do anything like that,_ he'd said.

 _I know,_ she'd said.

 _I know. I know._

Hands at her shoulder, pressing down. Hands at her neck, pressing in. Eyes locked. Lips stealing her breath.

 _I know. I know._

"No," she says again, louder this time. "I can't do this." She moves to click the blank window away but it shifts away from her mouse. She startles backwards, staring at her screen. The window doesn't move again. When she tries to close it, her fingers hesitant at the mouse, it folds away from the screen as it always has.

She turns towards the window again, where Kate and Warren are still huddled at her patio table. The other girl isn't there. Max had pushed the offer away when Kate had asked and Kate had nodded, as if she'd known she'd refuse. "You'll always have a seat if you want it," she'd said.

 _Not if Warren is there,_ Max had thought. But she didn't have to say it.

Kate took her silence with another nod. "Text me later?" she had asked, had made Max promise.

Outside the window now, Kate's bent over her notebook, scribbling intently. Warren, on the other hand, is looking Max's way and meets her gaze head-on. He smiles faintly before flicking his attention back to the laptop in front of him.

Max turns away, closing her blinds, and lies back on her bed. "I can't do this," she says again.

* * *

Friday afternoons always are always the quickest for the school to empty. At three-thirty, it's practically a ghost town. There's only Samuel, who pushes his broom slowly across the hallway, smiling vaguely at Max as she waits for Nathan.

"Your head is full of clouds," he observes and she returns his smile apologetically.

"I've got a lot on my mind."

"Rain clouds," he adds, nodding.

Max laughs softly, leaning her head back against the wall. "There's definitely a storm there," she agrees. Maybe the tornado has taken residence in her mind and now it's built up so much power that it's wrecking everything it touches.

Samuel nods again as his broom sweeps past her—slowly, methodically, never wavering in its pattern. "It's surprising what one does for a little sunlight to break through."

She squints up at the light above her, flickering as the others stay steady.

"Loneliness can do strange things," he continues as Nathan turns the corner, his camera bag slung over his shoulder. But it's Dr. White's she hears—her words with Samuel's voice. "Just for the sake of conversation. For comfort."

Max stares at Samuel, whose attention is turned back to the floor as he pushes the broom forward again.

"Sorry I got held up," Nathan grumbles, his head downcast as he fumbles with his bag. "Lennox, that dumbass, doesn't know a goddamn thing about photography. How the hell he's club president, I'll never fucking figure out."

The glass of the front door is shaking, like the wind is rustling against it even though she can tell there's no wind outside. But she can feel it moving against her arm, she can see it. She pushes against it and it suddenly stops, stock-still and silent again.

Samuel's watching the front door as well, tilting his head as if he still hears the shaking. She can still hear it, too, if she leans close enough, like it's echoing inside her mind, even though the door is still against her.

"Do you hear that?" she whispers.

"Hmm?" Nathan looks up from his bag, frowning at her question.

"The door. The wind."

Nathan glances towards the door, that's still and silent, and nothing extraordinary. He leans against it, meeting her gaze again as he lightly rocks against it.

 _Real,_ his movement says, _Real and not moving. See?_

"I should fix that hinge," Samuel muses.

"You see it?" Max asks and Nathan pauses, his back still against the door.

"Samuel sees many things," Samuel says slowly. "But I don't think I can see what you do."

"Okay, sure," Nathan says, shaking his head. He pushes the door open, leaning his arm against it for her to walk under it.

"So, anyway, you got plans?" he asks.

Max rests her hand against the handle as the door closes. It stays still against her fingers.

"You mean today?" she blinks as she focuses on him.

"No, Max. I meant in three years from now. Come on."

"Not really. Homework. Sleep. Maybe see if there's any good movies to watch."

Nathan rolls his eyes. "That sounds pretty riveting. I think I fell asleep before you even stopped talking."

Max shrugs, her attention still on the door. "Yeah, well, what are you doing, then?"

"Right now, I'm going to group. Want to ride up together?"

"Oh." She looks up at him. "I think I'm going to stay home today."

Nathan frowns down at her. "You not going anymore?"

"Well," she begins and bends down to retie her shoelace. It's already tied and she has to tug at the knot to free it. But it gives her something to look at that isn't his expression. "Not this time." She doesn't have to look up to know he's still staring down at her.

"Or last time," he replies. He rolls onto the balls of his feet and falls back and Max watches him repeat the action before she stands back up.

"That's because I was trying to avoid you," she says.

"Max." He leans back into her line of vision again, still rolling onto the balls of his feet.

"I'm tired," she says, leaning against the brick wall. It digs into her back like a reassurance. "My head feels all foggy and I think I just need to sleep it off."

"Nightmare's catching up to you," he observes. His voice is softer around the edges, even though his tone is nonchalant. "Right?'

"Something like that," she says.

"You're still meeting with Doc, right?"

"Yeah, of course." She glances away. "Well, I missed last week, but I'm making it up next week."

"Next week. Not this week."

Her eyes dart back to his, pleading. "I can't right now," she replies. "I just need some space."

 _I just need some space. Right now, I need my own space._

"In my head," she clarifies when Nathan's brow furrows at her words. "I just want some space from the psychoanalysis. Next week, it'll be back to the routine."

The creases in his forehead soften slightly. "Want a ride home?"

She shakes her head. "I think I'm going to walk today."

"Walk," he repeats, eyeing the sidewalk that winds away from the school.

"Yeah. You know, that thing people do with two legs where you move one in front of the other?"

Nathan snorts.

"I just feel like walking," she continues.

 _I need the fresh air,_ she thinks frantically _. The feeling of my feet on the ground. The reassurance that I'm not fucking batshit._

He clicks his tongue in protest. "I have to go to group. It's not something I can skip out on."

"So, go. It's okay. I'll be okay."

"Yeah, all right." He shrugs. "I'll talk to you later?"

"I'll text you when I get home. I promise." She marks an invisible "x" on her chest. "Cross my heart and all that."

The corner of his mouth quirks into a smile this time. "That's a pretty serious promise, Caulfield." He slings an arm around her shoulder as he heads towards his truck. "I'm tying you to the truck bed if you try to skip next week. That's a promise, too."

"Fair enough," she says absently.

"You sure you're okay?" His hand lingers at her shoulder, as if he's hesitant in letting her go.

"Yeah," she says, backing away from the truck. "Don't worry, I'll text you."

"All right, whatever." His eyes keep sight of her as he starts the ignition.

She tosses a wave behind her. He honks and she waves again before heading down the path towards her house.

It feels strange to have her Friday afternoon free, not pouring over books with Warren. When she'd told her mom she'd wanted to cancel the tutoring, that she felt she didn't need it anymore, her mom had hesitated. "Are you sure?" she'd asked. "You don't think you'll fall behind again?"

Max didn't want to tell her she'd probably always be behind, but she'd smiled and nodded anyway.

Usually, the street would be busy with the start of rush hour—cars bustling as they try to beat the hoard of those leaving school or trying to squeeze in the start of weekend errands. But the street is eerily quiet today. Only the scratch of a stray leaf on pavement breaks through the silence.

She's barely managed to walk past three houses before she realizes she doesn't recognize them anymore. The sidewalk she's crossed a handful of times this past month suddenly seems unfamiliar, wrong.

She feels herself swaying in shoes too tight against her feet, music blaring behind her. "I don't do parties," she says, almost automatically. She catches a snatch of slurred conversations and yells that crawl out of the darkness like ghosts. Everything slides out of focus; she feels herself spinning in shoes that are too tight, then cold air around her as she pushes herself out the door.

The music is still pounding in her ears, barely muffled outside the building. There's raucous laughter and people sprawled out upon benches outside.

Her hands are clenched together, squeezing until she can't feel the blood circulate. She shakes open one fist and turns towards the sidewalk, heels catching behind her. All she wants is miles behind her, miles from them, miles from him, miles from herself. All she wants is to run.

 _You can't run from everything, Max._

She lets go of her other fist as well.

 _You can't run from everything._

She's told herself this countless times. She's wondered this every time the photos have stayed static and still in her hands, when the only timeline moving forward is the one converged into her head.

 _I'm not running._ Even though that's what she's doing now. Maybe she'll always be running.

 _Max, what are you doing? Get in the car. Come on. Get in the car, Max._

 _What are you doing here? I told you I needed some space._

 _Is that why you went there?_

Quiet words, soft eyes, even as he's leaning out the window, when she kicks her shoes off to jog away from him.

 _I told you. I told you already._

 _They only want to hurt you. Can't you see that? Why would you go to them? Come on, I'll take you home._

 _They already hurt me. It doesn't matter._

She's running now, feet slipping over the bumps in the sidewalk, the world tilting, stretching around her. There's a fog creeping over the hill the road leads into and Max squints into it. It grows around her, washing the color from her shoes, the sidewalk.

She can feel it inside her mind, the feeling of her feet falling from the sidewalk, the music dropping to a dull thudding in her ears. The walls of the houses around her have peeled away into something unfamiliar. Something smaller. Someone's house maybe. She's outside someone's house.

The sky is a blurring sunset and her neck is stiff. She doesn't know how long she's been out here, but she's leaning against a tree, her legs asleep underneath her. She rolls onto her knees and notices a pair of unfamiliar shoes standing in front of her.

"Well, you're alive," a voice says above her.

She looks up to see a patch of blond hair underneath a cap. For a moment, she sees Justin's smile peeking out. Justin, who she hadn't seen since the other timeline. But then the rest of his face catches the dying sunlight and it turns unfamiliar again.

"Thought I was gonna have to call an ambulance or something," he muses.

"How long have I been out here?" she asks. _Where am I?_ she wants to ask, but she's afraid of the answer he'd give her.

"No idea. A couple hours, maybe. Frank says you've been out since before the party." His words are slurred but she can still pick up the amusement in his tone.

She glances behind him to realize the dull bass is coming from inside the house.

"Kinda weird place to take a nap, next to a fucking tree," he continues.

"Frank?" she asks, finally catching hold of what he's saying.

"Get out of the fucking bathtub," someone yells from the doorway before stumbling out the door.

The guy in front of her gestures behind him. "You here for the party, then?" He holds out the plastic cup he'd been holding.

"No, I…" She squints at the man on the porch, but he looks nothing like Frank Bowers.

"Well," the guy says, setting the cup beside her. "You look like you need that. So, if you change your mind…" He shrugs and heads back to the porch, clapping the other guy on the shoulder. They both cast a glance at her and laugh, the one called Frank shaking his head.

Max doesn't know how long she sits in front of the tree, but she can't seem to bring herself to move. The fog could come creeping back, the scenery could easily change in front of her again. She doesn't even know how to make it home.

But she's knows she's back in the timeline she'd left school from. If she'd even left.

In the time she's sat in front of the tree, she's discovered that Frank goes to the community college nearby. That most of the people at the party go to her school; she's recognized a few of their faces, though no names come to mind.

And at some point, she'd taken the drink that had been set beside her. And a few others.

 _What are you doing?_ A voice calls out from the back of her mind. She clings to it, hoping for some reason to worm its way through the chaos around her but all it does is stutter one question.

 _Whatareyoudoingwhatareyoudoingwhatareyoudoing?_

 _What am I doing?_

She doesn't know why she's still holding the cup, why she can't uproot herself from this one spot on the ground. She eyes the girls dancing on the porch, their eyes closed, their heads tilted back with lazy smiles, swaying against the beat as if there's nothing else that matters. As if they are nowhere and everywhere all at once.

Max closes her eyes and tries to push everything out save for the bass of the music. She tilts the cup to her lips. The alcohol is bitter and she nearly spits it right back out. But the taste is everywhere—in her throat, in her nose. She can even feel it in her head, loose and pushing everything else aside. It feels freeing.

"Max?"

She peers over the edge of her cup to see Warren standing in front of her, mouth slightly agape. His expression catches her off guard and she giggles.

"What are you doing here?" he asks and she raises her cup to block out his face. She doesn't even mind the burning in her throat anymore, or the flush that's like fire leaping into her blood. The panic has pulled loose in layers and even the music doesn't seem to drill into her brain anymore.

"Yeah, well, why are you here?" she counters.

He sighs, shifting from one foot to the other, before dropping onto the ground next to her. "I fixed Frank's computer last week. He said I could drop by and…you're drunk, aren't you?"

"No," she argues, eyeing him from the side of her cup. "I'm…what?"

He lets out a huff of laughter and leans against the tree. "What are you doing here?" he repeats.

"I don't know," she admits. Her head feels heavy and she lets it loll to the side. "I got lost. And then I…I don't know what I'm doing."

"Lost?" he echoes and raises an eyebrow. "Max, the school is right behind us."

"No, it's not." She turns around, but all she can make out is the top of a building from behind the hill. She frowns. "I walked through…the fog…" She squints at the hill, as if it will somehow bring the fog back.

Her cup is empty and she slowly rises to her feet. Her legs are shaky and the ground rushes up at her but she manages to not fall back down.

"Whoa," Warren says, rushing to his own feet and reaching for her.

"Don't," she says and bats his hands away. She shuffles past him and makes it past the porch and inside. It doesn't take long to find another drink. She bumps into the guy in the hat, who flashes her a grin and thumbs-up.

"You sure you want to do that?" Warren asks from behind her.

"No," she says, taking another drink. She pushes past him to head back outside. The sky around her is almost black and Max nearly chokes on her drink.

 _How much time have I lost?_ she thinks as she tries to pull her phone out of her pocket. It drops to the ground, the time glaring up at her. Eight o'clock. She's been out here for five hours. And the running tally of missed calls is enough to make her cringe. Twenty from her mom. Five from her dad. Ten from Nathan. A few from Kate and Chloe. Another slew of texts. The letters blur in and out of focus.

 _I was supposed to text him,_ she remembers. But she hadn't even made it home, so there'd been nothing to text.

Warren bends down and scoops up her phone before she can.

"Stop following me," she protests as she tries to grab it from him.

He holds it out of reach. "You really shouldn't be here. Come on, Max. There's all kinds of assholes here just waiting for a girl to get wasted and drape herself across the ground."

"I didn't drape myself across the ground."

"I think that tree would disagree."

She tries to raise herself onto her tiptoes to retrieve her phone but falls forward, right into his chest.

He grabs hold of her shoulders and pushes her back gently. "You gonna tell me what's going on?"

"Give me back my phone."

He glances down at it, frowning at the list of notifications. "No one knows you're here."

"Give it back, Warren."

His eyes flick back towards her. "Did you have another dream? Is that what the fog's about?"

"It's not your business," she says and tilts her cup for another drink.

"Max, you look like you haven't slept for weeks. You look delirious. Tell me you're not trying to do something stupid. I mean, more stupid than what you're already doing."

Max snorts into her cup, sending a splash of beer into her face. "Shut up."

"You're not, like, trying to induce a hallucination by getting drunk are you?"

His words are so close to the mark that she pauses in mid-drink, her cup shaking in her hand. "I thought you said they weren't hallucinations."

"I didn't say that." His voice falls quiet.

She lets out a choked laugh. "I knew you didn't believe me."

"I didn't say that either."

"Then, what are you saying? Because, honestly? I still can't figure it out."

"Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm fine," she says and it's probably the first time she's actually felt it. Her head droops forward as she nods. She feels slightly off balance, as if her head is heavier than the rest of her. The bass of the music behind her digs past her muscles and into her bones, resonating.

He takes hold of her arms, pulling her towards him. "No. You're not," he says.

Her head lolls against his chest on its own accord. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block out everything around her, everything inside her.

No. She hasn't been fine for a long time. Even though her head is singing at the moment, all the other noise quiet inside her, she knows it's still there, pulsing and waiting to break back out again.

"I'm scared," she whispers against him. "I'm scared that I'm going to wake up one day and not know where I am. I'm scared that it's already happening. I don't know what's going on."

She feels Warren's hand against her head, stroking her hair. His other hand is tight around her waist as he sits back down on the ground, pulling her with him. "It's okay," he says softly. "Is it working? The hallucinations?"

"What do you mean?" She tries to untangle herself from him, but his arm is tight around her.

"Isn't that why you're doing this?"

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

"Here." He tosses her phone towards her, letting his arm drop back beside him. "It doesn't matter."

She pulls herself away, frowning her confusion as she tries to unlock her phone. It takes several tries for her to click on Nathan's name.

He answers almost as soon as the line starts ringing. "Max, where the fuck are you?"

"I don't…I don't know," she mumbles, eyeing Warren. She turns around so that she's looking at the tree instead. "I'm at some kind of party."

"A party," Nathan repeats. "Your folks are trying to call the goddamn police and you're at a party." He laughs and there's a clunk as if he's hit something.

Max lies down, pressing her side against the grass and closing her eyes.

"Where are you?" Nathan asks again and she hears a car driving past. He must already be on the road.

"Dunno," Max says. Her head still feels heavy, even as she's lying down. She yawns. "It's near the school, though. Probably not hard to miss."

"All right. Don't go anywhere. I'll meet you out front."

"Mmkay." She yawns again and the phone falls from her hand.

The air is cooler now that the sun's down and she gasps at it, pulling it into her lungs. It makes her feel like she's drowning and her eyes fly open.

"Are you okay?" Warren asks from beside her.

She'd forgotten that he was there and his voice jerks her back into his knees. "Cold," she says, even though the rest of her is hot. She draws her own knees up to her chest.

"Want to go sleep it off?"

She shakes her head slowly. Nathan had told her to stay put. Nathan had told her…

 _Are they calling the police?_

She sits up suddenly, slamming her head into his knees this time. "Shit. The police."

"What?" Warren asks. He draws his knees away before she can hit them again.

"I have to tell…" But everything is fuzzy again. She can't tell if it's a dream that's prickling at the back of her mind or if there's something else. "I don't know."

He rises slowly to his feet and holds out a hand. "All right, Mulder, let's get you out of here. Come on."

"No." Max shakes her head again. "Nathan said he's coming."

Warren rolls his eyes. "You'll be waiting all night at this rate. They'll have to pry your frozen body off the ground."

"I'll wait," she replies.

Warren pauses, his eyes narrowed as he stares down at her. "I don't think you should."

A chorus of voices shout from behind them. Max leans over to see the source of commotion and Nathan storms across the yard. He ignores the laughter and cheers, eyes scanning the lawn for Max.

"Friends of yours?" Max calls out, pointing towards the people behind them.

He begins to answer then catches sight of Warren standing beside her, his arm still extended. Warren quickly lets it drop back to his side.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Nathan asks.

"Looking out for her," Warren replies flatly. "Seemed like someone needed to."

"Shut the hell up." Nathan glares at him then jerks his head towards Max. "Come on," he tells her.

"Okay, hang on. Everything's kind of spinny right now."

Nathan frowns, dropping to his knees so that his face is level with hers. "How much did you drink?"

"I don't know," she admits. "A few."

He glares back up at Warren. "What did you do to her?"

Warren laughs, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I didn't do anything. She was already like that when I got here."

"So, you what? Thought you'd keep her company while she passed out on the ground?"

"I was going to take her home."

"I'm not passed out," Max interjects and Nathan grabs hold of her, shifting her awkwardly onto her feet.

"Like hell you were taking her home," he tells Warren.

"Seems to me," Warren replies, "that she didn't want you to. Or she would have called you earlier."

"Shut the hell up," Nathan warns again. He lets go of Max and she wobbles unsteadily as she tries to regain her footing.

Warren laughs again and turns away. He's only managed two steps further before Nathan lunges forward and grabs him.

"You think you're smooth, don't you? Yeah, well, guess what?" There's one second of horrible silence before he slams his fist into Warren's face.

Max sees the blood before it even spills, sees it spray in every direction. There's so much that she feels as if she's drowning in it.

She blinks and only the blood under Warren's nose shines up at her in the moonlight.

"No," Max says, quickly scrambling backwards. "No. No, no, no. Nathan, stop."

"You said you were going to stay away from him," Nathan accuses, his eyes sweeping past her in a blaze.

Warren cradles the side of his face and spits out a mouthful of blood. "I didn't do anything," he sputters.

Nathan slams him against the tree, causing him to grunt. "Yeah, the fuck you didn't. You ever touch her again and I'll make sure you never walk again."

"Nathan, stop." Max tries to run over to him and tugs at his jacket.

Nathan stiffens and slowly lets loose of Warren's shirt. Warren slumps to the ground in front of him.

"Did he touch you again?" Nathan asks. He turns around and kicks at Warren's feet, causing him to yelp.

"I'm okay. Let's go." She grabs hold of his hands, trying to tug him away again. A crowd has started to form around them. "Before someone calls the cops."

Warren glares up at her and for a moment she sees a flash of anger before there's just pain again. He groans and covers his face with his hands, blood dropping onto his shirt.

"Yeah, come on." Nathan wraps an arm around her again, letting her lean against him as he leads her to his truck. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I don't think…is he gonna be okay?" Max tries to peer over Nathan's shoulder and stumbles over his feet.

"He's lucky he's not dead," Nathan mutters and yanks the truck's door open for her.

"Yeah, but he was just…"

"He was just about to fucking rape you, that's what."

"What the hell? No, he wasn't." Max gapes at him, her phone falling to the floor of the truck.

Hands at her shoulders. Hands at her neck. A flash of metal before her.

 _Nothing happened._

"Max. Get in." He leans over to pick up her phone and hands it to her as she clambers in. "Tell your mom you're at Chloe's."

"We're going to Chloe's?" Her phone is shaking in her hand. She has to angle it towards her to keep it from sliding free again.

"No, you…" He sighs and reaches over, closing the door and pulling her seatbelt over her. "You wanna go home completely wasted?"

"I'm not wasted," she argues and he sighs again.

"Nathan," someone shouts outside his window. Max cranes her neck to see Victoria walking up to the truck, Courtney by her side.

"You're fucking kidding me," Nathan mutters.

Shoes too tight on her feet. Glass shattered around her. A flash of a camera in her face.

Max's stomach lurches and she presses a palm to her mouth. She feels the fog creep inside her mind again.

 _Having fun yet, Max?_

"Babysitting?" Victoria asks, peering down at the window and smiling as she catches sight of Max.

"Fuck off," Nathan grumbles and jams his keys into the ignition.

"Sounds like the start to an awesome Friday night." She leans against his side mirror and Nathan starts the truck, glaring at her.

"Really not the time to start shit, Vic."

"Always quick to anger, aren't you?" Victoria's smile slowly fades. "I saw Graham back there. He's bleeding like a faucet."

Nathan slams his hand against the steering wheel, squeezing his eyes shut as he sighs again. When he opens them, it's as if something is trapped there, something vulnerable. "Let's go," he says, pulling away almost before Victoria has even stepped aside.

Max isn't quite gone enough to miss the glance they share, the way something hot and uneven seems to pass between them. "Is she calling the cops?" Max asks, pressing her phone to her face. She realizes she's supposed to be calling her mom and pulls it back to cycle through her contacts.

"I hit him once," he grumbles. "Probably shouldn't have. But I guarantee you it's not the only fight that'll go on tonight. Frank's loose with his fists. Cops'll probably show up at some point anyway."

"Max," Vanessa's voice floods Max's ear. "Oh my god, where are you? What's going on? Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"Noooo," Max says, shaking her head fast enough that she almost drops her phone.

Nathan shoots her a dark glance. "Get your shit together," he whispers.

"I'm sorry, Mom." She shakes her head, trying to free some of the cloudiness. "I'm at Chloe's. I just…I freaked and needed to see her. I'm okay, though. We're okay."

"Max." Vanessa sighs and Max knows she's sectioning her words, trying to find something that doesn't scream, _what the hell were you thinking? What the hell are you doing?_

"Good," Vanessa continues but her voice implies anything except that. "I just…you could have called me. Should have. I know you're eighteen and you want space, but you can't do this, Max. You can't just leave _out of state_ without asking us. Without telling us. Without _talking_ to us. We worry about you. It's hard to know where you stand when we can't see where you're standing."

Max can hear the space in between the words, the false sense of calm to keep her from running forward. She glances around the dark neighborhood they're passing, the spilled beer on her shirt, the window she keeps leaning against. This wasn't helping her case. "I know, Mom," she says, holding back a sigh. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm trying."

 _No, you're not,_ she chastises herself and this time the sigh escapes raggedly.

"You're coming home in the morning. We'll talk about it then." A beat of silence. "Tell me you didn't hitchhike there."

"No. I, uh, got a ride from a friend." She casts a quick look towards Nathan, who's cycling his finger in a _wrap it up_ motion. "She'll bring me back."

"Tomorrow morning. I mean it, Max."

"Yeah, first thing in the morning." She winces again. "I'm really sorry, Mom, for making you worry. I'll be home soon."

"I'm always going to worry," Vanessa says wryly. Max thinks how in a different world, in a different timeline, she wouldn't have to put her mother through this. That Vanessa wouldn't walk around eggshells and would yell at Max like any other mother would. It makes her feel suddenly homesick.

 _I can't do this to her,_ she thinks and tears her gaze towards the windshield, where the dim road seems to speed into her. She wishes she could just close her eyes and let the wind take her where she needs to go.

"You're grounded," her mother says. "Big time." Max can hear her dad in the background, his questions building to a shout and she knows her mom is trying to ward him away from earshot. "So, make sure you're home tomorrow or it's going to be even worse."

"Got it," Max says and bids her goodbye. Then, she calls Chloe, who wastes no effort in showing her anger.

"What the hell are you doing? You couldn't call one person to let them know you were okay?"

"I know. I'm sorry." She looks down at her phone, to see the time ticking past one solid minute at a time. Linear, forward, no fog. She wants to grab onto it and hold it still. "My mom thinks I'm at your place, so shh."

"Shh?" Chloe falls silent for a few seconds and Max hums in agreement. "Are you drunk or something? Shit, Max. Where the fuck are you right now?" Chloe's loud enough that Max has to pull the phone away from her ear.

"Relax, she's with me," Nathan yells beside her. "She got herself drunk at a party. Nothing she can't sleep off."

"Everybody just shh," Max says, pressing her fingers against her temples. "I know I did something stupid. It's done. It's over. Lesson learned."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Chloe says wryly. "Drink some water before you crash. And if you don't have a trash can nearby, get one. And take some aspirin, too."

"Aye, aye, captain." Max sends off a salute that has Nathan rolling his eyes.

"And don't let anyone take advantage of you." Max doesn't have to see Chloe to know she's shooting daggers across the phone to Nathan.

Nathan rolls his eyes again. "Bye, Chloe."

"I mean it."

"I'm good," Max promises and Chloe grumbles a goodbye.

"Maybe you should have told her what Graham tried to pull." He drills his finger against the steering wheel, tapping out an unsteady cadence.

"I don't want to think about that now," Max argues as unease sweeps through her stomach again. She thinks she might need that trash can sooner rather than later.

 _Taptaptap. Tap._

The unease grows heavier and she's mesmerized by his fingers, their erratic rhythm.

 _Nothing happened._

"He wasn't helping."

"Yeah, no shit, Max." The road before them looks slightly familiar, the usual buildings fading away to a bare sky. "You want a repeat of last year?"

She tears her eyes away from the windshield and stares at him. "Last year?"

"When he was practically attached to your hip," he grumbles. "Being a creeper."

She frowns and feels her head tilting towards the window. The bump as it hits startles her a little more awake. "I didn't know him last year. I didn't talk to him."

Nathan doesn't seem to hear her. "What the fuck was he doing there anyway? Little fucker doesn't even drink."

"I didn't talk to him," Max insists. She wants to tell Nathan Warren's Jell-O story, how they'd bumped into each other at lunch years ago and hadn't spoken since. How it's only been a month since he'd tutored her, how she's spent three years talking to only shadows. But her mouth feels raspy and dry. No words come.

"He sure was talking to you," Nathan replies with a small laugh. His knuckles crack as he grips the steering wheel.

"Last year. I didn't talk to him last year."

 _Don't worry. You've got me._ Soft words, warm smile. _You can't get rid of me that easily._

"Max." More knuckles cracking. "He didn't try anything last year, did he? I mean, besides permanently orbiting you or whatever the fuck you want to call it."

Max feels her world tilting again, stretching, everything that should be linear breaking apart and scattering around her. "I—I don't know."

Nathan casts a sidelong glance her way. "Don't worry about it," he says, his tone a few notes softer.

She'd misheard him. It was easy enough to do when she couldn't even tell up from down properly, when her hands couldn't even hold onto something long enough to keep it tumbling onto the floor.

She'd heard him say _year_ instead of _month,_ and so her brain kept making the connection, kept wanting to replace the events in her mind. Rewrite them.

"I can't—I keep fucking up." She presses her cheek against the window, feeling it rattle against her. Weighted, still against her cheek even after seconds pass.

"Well, that was definitely the place to fuck up."

She lets out a short bark of laughter. It burns like wildfire. The dizziness returns and the street seems to tilts up at her again. She doesn't know if it's the alcohol, her sense of time, or her sense of sanity. She leans back to level it again.

"Now you know why it was a fuck-up," he continues.

"But I wasn't even trying to. It was just…there. I don't even know how I got there. It was like I just…" She makes a flying gesture with her hand, letting it drop heavily into her lap. She nods over at Nathan knowingly and he stifles a smile.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do with you, Caulfield."

The glass still rattles against her cheek.

"Well, that's a problem, seeing as I'm currently in your truck."

The paved road gives way to gravel, then sand. Max tries to peer out the window, pressing her forehead against the glass. "Are we at the beach?"

"My folks' lot," he clarifies, pulling onto a boarded path that leads to the house. "Unless you want to sleep in the truck again. Cold air would sober you up pretty quickly."

Max immediately reaches for her hoodie then realizes her arms are bare. She can't remember if she'd been wearing it earlier.

Nathan shrugs off his jacket and hands it to her without a pause. "Didn't think so."

The house looms over her like a shadow, dark and empty. Light sensors kick on and flood the path from the garage. Even the garage is bigger than her entire living room. Nathan seems completely unfazed as he unlocks the garage door. Max stumbles over the steps and he catches her before she can fall.

"Hold on," he says as he pushes the door open.

She grabs onto his elbow, trying to keep herself steady as light floods the entryway as well. The house looks exactly as she imagined it would—expensive furniture barely touched, with obnoxious seaside paintings framed on the walls. It looks like something out of a magazine, completely unlived in aside from the lack of dust. She'd bet there's a cleaning service that takes care of that, though.

"Hungry?" he asks, heading towards the kitchen. He roots through the fridge, setting a bottle of water aside.

"Not even remotely," she says as her stomach lurches again. She collapses at the island framing the kitchen, laying her head against the countertop.

She hears him disappear around the corner, something banging against the wall and being rummaged through before he returns and slams a bottle of aspirin in front of her.

"Take it," he demands, pushing the water in front of her as well.

"I don't think I can swallow anything else right now," she mumbles into the counter.

"Want to try me?" He wraps his knuckles against the lid of the aspirin.

She doesn't feel as dizzy as she had before. She still feels light, as if she might fly if she jumped far enough, if she lifted her arms high enough. She feels her arms raise past her head and leans back, nearly toppling out of the stool.

Nathan fumbles to catch her. "All right, let's find you something that you can't fall out of." She leans against him and wraps her arms around his middle.

"I don't know why people drink," she confides. "I thought it'd make everything quiet, but it's just jumbled around now. I can't even hear myself think."

"That's kind of the point, Max," he says, trying to steady her.

"You've got it all figured out. What not to do. What you should do. And I don't even know where I am anymore." _When I am._ She peers around Nathan, the unfamiliar beige walls confusing her.

"Beach house," he reminds her, stifling another smile. It quickly falls though as he continues. "I don't have it figured out either. I just fall into a routine. And right now, it's a routine of _don'ts._ "

"Don't," she repeats, leaning into his chest. His chest that is weighted and still against her. That doesn't move even as seconds pass. He's so close, she barely has to move to kiss him. She tilts her head back and presses her lips against his throat, trailing up to his jaw. She feels everything in him tense, his hands tight against her arms.

"Max," he mutters, trying to look down at her.

"Don't," she whispers. She captures his lips and he lets her. She doesn't know where she is, but with his lips pressed against hers, she feels _somewhere—_ feet on solid ground, head in the clouds, nowhere and everywhere. She holds on to him as if he's the only thing there.

"Max," he tries again, breathing her name against her lips. He grips her arms like a warning, his lips moving as if he's trying to speak against hers, but then she pushes forward again. He kisses her back slowly, his hands sliding around to her back, pulling her to lean against him. It makes her feel as if he's falling into her as well.

She feels her hands slide down his shirt and into the fabric, seeking the heat of his skin. His lips skim across her jaw to her ear, pressing a kiss against her earlobe before speaking.

"We can't do this."

She pulls back to see the apology in his eyes, the disappointment.

"I'm not that drunk," she argues.

He lets his arms drop away quickly and she stumbles to the side. He smiles knowingly.

"There'll be other times," he says and guides her to the sofa.

She sits down heavily. "I don't want another time," she grumbles.

"Well, yeah, not right now you don't." He pops open the aspirin and shakes out a couple, handing them to her along with the water.

She takes them begrudgingly and leans back against the sofa. The lightheadedness has passed into heaviness again and everything in her feels as if it's being held down. She lets out a long yawn.

"Ready to crash?"

She cracks open one eye to nod in his direction. She barely feels him help her back to her feet; she's not even sure if her feet are on the ground at this point. Even though she's lost in the heaviness, she thinks maybe she's flown off the ground after all. It's only Nathan's arms around her that seem to tether her here and when he lays her against the soft fabric of a comforter, she pulls his arms tighter around her.

"Don't," she says, tugging him closer. "Don't go."

He hums something against her shoulder, tracing his fingers across her side—swirling patterns that make her lose track of where she is again.

She turns to look up at him and he kisses her, catching her request before she can repeat it.

"Not going anywhere," he says.

She feels the edges crowding in, reality that will be loud and blaring in the morning. She doesn't want to face it, though. Right now, it doesn't feel as if everything in converging and breaking apart again. There are too many Maxes fighting for the path before her and she has room for none of them.

"Too many Maxes," she says, her lips buried in the collar of his jacket.

He doesn't answer, but lets her wrap her arms around him. His own arms stay steady around her.


	18. Chapter 18

Max wakes up to sunlight burning into her eyes. Everything is amplified and the waves sound as if they're coming from beside her instead of outside. Every one of her joints feels as if it's on fire. Nathan's legs are tangled around her own, his chest warm against her, and his hands are buried under the jacket she's still wearing.

She flushes and pulls them free, slamming her head on the headboard as she sits up. She groans and rubbing her head before peeling off the jacket. She's so hot that even the sheets stick to her.

Nathan grumbles beside her, peering up from one half-open eye. "Okay?" he asks.

"Aside from you feeling me up in my sleep, I'm..." She trails off, taking in the unfamiliar scenery around her. "Where are we?"

Nathan lets out a muffled laugh. "Beach house, remember?" He fumbles for a shirt from the dresser beside him, pulling it over his bare torso.

"No, I don't," she says, tearing her gaze away, "remember, I mean."

He looks over his shoulder at her. "Yeah, well, I don't blame you." He leans over to grab the shirt he'd worn yesterday, balling it up, and tossing it into a corner of the room. "You woke up to puke all over me then passed out again," he explains, when her eyes follow the shirt.

"Fuck, seriously? I'm so sorry." She winces as she tries to pull the blankets free from around her.

"Yeah, I'm not doing that again. You're lucky I like you, Caulfield. Anybody else'd be out on the street after that."

She bites back a smile. "Wow, thanks, then. Such an honor."

"Fucking disgusting," he mutters. He runs a hand through his hair and heads for the doorway. "Hungry now?"

Her stomach gurgles at the idea of food and she presses a hand against it. Her insides feel as if they've been pushed through a blender, but the thought of breakfast seems to keep everything else at bay.

"Maybe."

"Go shower and we can head out." He beckons to the double doors off the side of the room, which she presumes leads to the bathroom.

She lets the doors close behind her, taking in the enormous shower, the unnecessarily large tub across from it. She rolls her eyes and steps into the shower. Even the setting for the water pressure is sensitive. When she accidentally sets the hot water to full force and yelps, Nathan pounds at the door, asking if she's all right.

"Fine. I'm fine," she shouts back, quickly turning the temperature down. As the water hits the wall behind her, a quick sense of déjà vu flashes through her. She backs into the wall and feels everything spin around her. She glances down to see blood splattering at her feet and running towards the drain. She jumps back, but her hands slip on the wall beside her and she falls.

"Max," someone croons beside her. "Let me show you." Something slams against the back of her head as she meets the floor and she groans. Her hands seek the pulsing at the base of her skull and come back painted in blood.

"Max," the voice says again, much more urgent.

She presses her face against the floor of the shower, but it feels cold against her cheek. For a moment, she feels like she's back on the roof, laying down on the cold rooftop as the rain falls above.

"Max!"

The door to the shower is jerked open and two hands pull her up and out of the shower. She blinks into Nathan's wide eyes, the pattering of the shower on the glass door beside her. She places a hand to the back of her head but it comes back clean. No blood.

"You scared the shit out of me," Nathan's saying and Max blinks again.

"There was…I saw…I mean…" She shakes her head, trying to free the image. Her hair is dripping onto her arms and it seems to jerk her back into the moment.

"What happened?" Nathan asks quietly.

"Blood," Max whispers. "There was..."

"Nothing here." He exhales sharply, pulling away from her. "You, uh, you need this." He drapes a towel across her chest, glancing away.

Max feels her cheeks flush hotly and wraps the towel around herself.

"There's clothes on the counter or whatever." He gestures behind him and rises to his feet.

She nods slowly, watching as he closes the door behind him. The clothes he set out are slightly loose on her and look as if they'd been pulled right out of a magazine. She feels like she's made off with a model's wardrobe. Her reflection frowns her disapproval back at her.

Nathan's leaning against the doorway when she steps out, shooting her a quick glance that he averts as soon as she catches his eye. His cheeks are tinged with pink.

"Is this your sister's?" she asks quietly, pulling at the hem of her shirt. She barely remembers the email she'd seen in his dorm, a lifetime ago, a timeline ago. She can count on one hand the number of times Nathan has mentioned his family here.

His shoulders tense before he shrugs. "Yeah. She's not around much anyway. Not these days."

"Chasing ghosts?" she asks.

"Running away from them, more like." He nods at the wall next to her. "Ready?"

Max nods silently.

* * *

The IHOP they pull into is loud and every plate clatter makes her wince. The headache she'd awoken with had grown to a roar now. She wrinkles her nose at the stack of pancakes the server plops in front of her. "This smells awful," she groans, burrowing her head in her arms against the table.

Nathan leans back as the table jostles. "Come on, eat. You're not dry heaving in my truck." He waves his fork at her as he picks at his own food.

She plops a piece of pancake into her mouth and promptly lays her head back onto the table. She can hear the faint warbling of a jukebox. She turns her head to try to catch the song, but it cuts off into silence. She doesn't even see a jukebox nearby.

"So, are you gonna tell me what happened? Picking you up drunk at a party, not exactly the way I thought you'd end a Friday night."

Max shrugs, her head still down.

"I don't know. I was walking home and—I don't know. It was like I was remembering something and I lost track of where I was or something." She wrinkles her nose again as she tries to pull up what she'd seen. It's fuzzy though, like the dream she'd had in Nathan's truck. All she remembers are snatches of voices, running. "I don't even remember how I got there. But then, once I was there, it was like…I think I just wanted to lose myself for a little while."

"Like in the shower?" Nathan asks, taking another bite of pancake. "Blood?"

"No." If she looks closely at the patterning on the table in front of her, it almost reminds her of the tables at the Two Whales. She closes her eyes.

He twirls his fork around his fingers. "So much shit could have happened."

"Yeah," she mutters into the table.

"Would you have gone with him? If I hadn't shown up?"

"No," she says, pressing her face into the table.

"Because you don't trust him."

Max barely manages to shake her head against the table's surface.

"But you trust me."

She turns her head so she's facing him, his expression unreadable before her. "Why wouldn't I?" she asks.

"When I asked you what I was like, in your other world, in your head, you said I was scary. I've done a lot of stupid shit. Put a few people in the hospital. It's not exactly like I'm a hazard-free zone. But you don't even blink at it. You act like it's no big deal. I could drive us into a building and you wouldn't ask about it until the second the wall's in front of us."

Max rolls her eyes and even that sends a rush of pain through her head. "You know that's bullshit. I'm not afraid of you."

"You say that," he replies.

"You don't believe me?"

"But why? What the fuck did I do to have you trust me so easily?"

"You're not like Warren," she says quietly.

"That's not a reason," he says.

"I don't know," she replies. When she looks at him, she sees something of herself. A hurdle she's already jumped over, that's left miles behind. When she looks at herself, all she can see is the hurdle that's still in front of her, too close to judge how far she needs to jump.

"You're different," she continues, trailing one finger along the patterning of the table, "from when I knew you before. Like you've already conquered your battles and learned from them. But I don't know what Warren would do. I look at him and I can't...I can't _read_ him. It's not like I can say, 'oh, well, Warren used to be a little weird sometimes, but he's not like that now.'"

She takes a deep breath and watches it fog over the table's surface. "Actually, I think it's worse now," she continues quietly. "I can't imagine Warren…kissing me like that before."

"How much did you trust him before?" Nathan busies himself with his pancakes, tearing them into smaller and smaller pieces.

"You mean in my other timeline?" she asks, furrowing her brows.

"No, I mean before."

Max shakes her head, still not catching the meaning. "Why are we comparing him to you?"

"We're not," he says roughly. "I just…I don't get you sometimes. I feel like I don't deserve this. You, I mean."

"Yeah, like this whole thing's been a piece of cake."

"It's not supposed to be." He shrugs.

"How bad was I last night?" she asks hesitantly. "I mean, I wasn't trying to jump out of a tree or anything, was I?"

Nathan snorts, stabbing at another piece of pancake. He twirls the piece around his fork. "I could handle you just fine." He bites the pancake from his fork with a flash of teeth as he grins. "You pretty much just wanted to sleep everywhere."

"And, uh, push myself onto you." She blushes again and toys with the handle of her own fork. "I remember that. Sorry. I'm really sorry."

A smirk plays at his lips. "You didn't push yourself onto me."

"Yeah, well, I'm not usually that…forward or anything. I think the alcohol just kind of magnified…or whatever."

His eyebrows raise as he takes in her rambling and his smirk grows wider. "Magnified what?"

"Nothing. Well, something. But nothing, really," she continues and she feels her face light up with as much heat as the pancakes in front of her.

The smirk widens into a grin. "What kind of something are we talking here?"

Her tongue feels as if it's stuck to the roof of her mouth.

He shrugs again. "Don't go into cardiac arrest, Max. I was joking."

She burrows deeper in the booth, the rest of her pancakes forgotten. "I'm too hungover for this," she groans.

When Nathan doesn't answer, she peers through her fingers to find a suitably more sullen look on his face.

"What?" she prods. "What's wrong?"

"We need to head back," he says slowly.

She freezes, her hands still in front of her. "Right. My mom will kill me if we're not back before afternoon."

"You're not doing this because of me, right?"

"What do you mean?"

He shrugs, looking away. "I don't know. The drinking and everything. Stressing you out, making it worse. You didn't think you had to 'push yourself onto me' or whatever, did you?"

Max furrows her brows and shakes her head.

"Because you don't. Just so you know."

"Yeah, okay." Her brow furrows even more. She had asked him to take it slower and he'd listened without question. Even after last night. It leaves an even bitterer taste in her mouth. She groans again.

He smiles thinly and picks up the check between them. "Drink your water, too," he orders, tossing her the bottle of aspirin he'd pocketed.

Max fumbles as she twists the lid free, but it's not her head she's worried about anymore.

* * *

Max doesn't have to open the door to know what's on the other side. She knows her mother will be sitting on the sofa beside the door, coffee cold between her hands. Her father will have barricaded himself on the other end of the house, drowning everything out with the old TV they keep for football games.

It's three till ten and she knows that if she stands out here for three more minutes, her mom will call. If she turns around and leaves, her phone will ring till she turns it off. But what she doesn't know is what will happen once she walks through the door.

And when she finally works the courage to turn the knob, unlocked and waiting, it's certainly not a cat sniffing her toes that she's expecting.

"Who's this?" She kneels to let the cat sniff her hands. Mismatched eyes blink up at her before the cat nudges against her hand. She scratches at the ears against her fingers, glad to turn her attention somewhere else.

"We thought she might help you," Vanessa speaks up from beside her. Her coffee trembles slightly between her hands, still full, and when some of it splashes over the side, she seems surprised that she's still holding it. She sets it aside. "This isn't a reward," she adds. "This is a disciplinary action. In fact, she's sleeping with me for the first two weeks."

Max is startled to notice that the crow's feet at the edges of her eyes are deeper, pulled tighter together. It's been a long time since she's looked at her mom, fully looked at her, to notice the little changes that have been chipping away. Max had worried that running away would break her, but she's somehow managed the same thing just by running in circles.

Her hand falls away from the cat heavily. "All right," she says softly.

"You're grounded," Vanessa reminds her and Max nods.

"I know. It was so stupid. I wasn't even thinking. I was just in auto-pilot. Just going. I didn't even realize what I was doing until after I did it." It's half of the truth and all the truth at once.

"Can you see how worried we were?" her mother asks. She says the words slowly, as if each individual word will somehow work her perspective into Max. "I almost called the police, Max. I couldn't stop picturing you dead somewhere—in a ditch or behind some alley."

 _Or falling from a roof._

"I know," Max says again. "I don't know what else to say. It won't happen again."

"You're right it won't. And you're not leaving this house for two weeks. You're lucky it's not longer. School. Home. Nothing else. No laptop. No movies. No games. I'd take your phone, too, but I think that'd be punishing me more than you. No unnecessary calls or texts." She seems to be talking to herself now, ticking away her points on her fingers.

Max can't remember the last time she was grounded. Maybe the last time she'd spent the night at Chloe's house. She was always home before ten. She followed the rules, even when she was far from home. She broke them so seldom, that she'd never thought about what would happen if she did break them. She'd rarely wanted to.

Now, she'd broken so much that there wasn't anything left it hold it together. Vanessa was scrambling to patch something together that wouldn't crumble something else apart. And it left Max feeling even more broken.

"I'm sorry," Max says and the cat weaves her way into her hands again. Her dark fur is like silk against her fingers, her muscles lean and heavy against her touch. Weighted, still, not moving even after seconds pass. "I'm sorry."

Vanessa's eyes soften as she smiles. "What are you going to name her?"

The cat blinks up at her again, one yellow eye, one green, and lets out a raspy meow.

"Sylvia," Max answers. The cat leans against her and Max feels as if she's leaning back, another bit of reality keeping her rooted and still.

Vanessa's smile falters and she hesitates a moment before answering. "Are you…well. That's a great name, honey."

Max looks up, her own smile frozen in her confusion as she pets the cat. "Yeah, I think so," she says.

* * *

School. Home. School again. Vanessa insisted Kate come over for a study break because she was worried Max might burrow herself into her bed again. She didn't have to say it; Max could feel her eyes on her any time she stayed in bed past eight a.m. on the weekends and when it took her a little longer to get ready on school days.

She can feel her mom's eyes on her when she asks if she could walk home after school, even after glancing away when Max looked to her for an answer.

"Straight home?" Vanessa clarifies.

"Straight home," Max repeats.

"Straight home," Ryan adds, all business lined across his forehead. The effect, though, is ruined as Sylvia weaves between his feet. He tries to leap over her to keep from falling. "This cat," he exclaims and the worry lines dig further.

"It means she likes you," Max replies, a gentle smirk at her lips as she reaches for the cat.

"Funny way of showing it," he says, but he smiles all the same.

* * *

"I think I'm actually starting to miss you," Nathan grumbles, closing her locker as she fishes a book from the top shelf. He says it as if she's dragged it out of him rather than simply run into him after class.

"You've only got ten days," she replies with a smile. "I think you can make it."

"Ten days," he scoffs. "Sounds like you've been counting down."

"Not like I have anything else to do," she protests. She leans forward to press a quick kiss against his lips.

He blinks, caught off guard from the sudden affection. "I can't drive at night anymore," he grumbles. "Like who the hell am I supposed to bitch to about them taking milkshakes off the menu? Nobody else fucking cares." He jabs the air like he's confronting an invisible drive-through. "I even complained about it at group last week and Doc cut me off. Can you believe it? She fucking cut me off and all I was talking about was milkshakes."

"By talking, do you mean ranting for ten minutes? Because, you know, there's a time limit there."

"Shut up," he says with a smile. "Let me take you home, at least. I can drop you off at the end of the street."

"I want to walk," she argues.

He shakes his head. "I don't get you sometimes, Caulfield. I feel like you're trying to become one with nature or some shit. Like, one day, I'm going to walk in on you meditating in mid-air or something."

"I don't think I've gotten levitation powers yet. But I'll keep you posted."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll see you tomorrow." He plops a distracted kiss to the top of her head, pausing as if realizing what he's done, and saunters off.

The air is definitely cooler today; there's no more afterthought of summer. Max kicks at a stick on the sidewalk, watching it scatter down the slope of pavement. Her phone rings and she pulls it from her pocket to answer it.

The number pops up as unknown and she hesitates before answering it. It could be someone from the hospital. It could be her dad—he once called from a line in his office because he'd left his cell at home.

"Hello?"

She can hear her voice echoing back on the other end, crackling as she walks past a cluster of trees. She feels a shadow cross her face and peers up at a newly overcast sky. A small shudder runs through her.

The line clicks and the call ends; she's met with silence again.

"Well, I didn't want to talk to you either," she mutters. The shadows shift around her as she slips her phone back into her pocket. She peers up at the darkened sky. She'd wanted the fresh air, the walk, the freedom, but the bite of the breeze is making her regret it.

A shuffle of footsteps sound behind her. She spins around but there's only the murmur of running dryers from inside the laundromat next to her. The lid of a trashcan tumbles onto the ground behind her. A raccoon, maybe.

"Hello?" she calls out anyway. Her voice seems to die the moment she speaks, swallowed up in the breeze that whips past her.

When nothing answers, she sighs and continues forward just as a hand reaches out to grab her. She falls into the movement, slamming her head against the back wall of a building. Pain and a burst of red cloud her vision. Warren's face leers in front of hers, his eyes wide and his face bruised.

"Shit, Max, are you okay?" he asks, leaning her against the wall. His voice seems to echo off the brick surface.

"What happened?" she asks and her vision clouds more around the edges. _Concussion,_ she thinks vaguely. _You hit your head pretty hard._

"You hit your head pretty hard," he repeats and she can't tell if she'd uttered the words aloud first. His hand rests against her jaw and his fingers follow down towards her neck, pressing lightly against the hollow of her throat. She swallows, feeling his fingers slide against the movement.

"Here," he says, as his hand travels to her shoulder, directing her away from the wall. "Easy, okay? Let me help you to the car." He drapes her arm around him to stabilize her as he walks forward.

She leans into him because her feet can't seem to stand on their own. Something about his words jar her. She sees the car parked near them, swirling across her vision as if it's sliding in and out of reality.

 _Why are we going to his car?_ The question leaps at her, one strike of reason that fades into the dull roar of her head. She digs her heels into the ground, trying to lock her knees to aid her resistance.

"It's okay. We're almost there." Warren's voice is low beside her ear. The roar inside her head grows louder.

"—you to the hospital," he's saying but she digs her heels in even harder. It makes the darkness edging across her vision fade slightly.

"Just…just call an ambulance," she says, trying to pull her arm free.

His grip on her tightens. "It's okay. I'm here," he insists. "Let's just get to you to the car."

She pulls again at her arm, this time with enough force that surprises both of them.

Warren's eyes widen as she frees herself, stumbling back against the wall. Everything swirls around her again, even Warren as he reaches to grab her.

"Are you trying to hurt yourself?" he says, chuckling lightly. She bats his hands away but he grabs hold of them instead. "I'm just trying to help, Max. Calm down."

The darkness crowds in, shrinking everything into a pinpoint of light, but she fights it. A wave of nausea rolls over her and the darkness starts to fade again.

His gaze locks onto hers and even in her daze, his calmness scares her more than the pain. Because she can see the darkness beneath it, the hunger that seems to leap at her.

"Warren," she whispers. "What are you doing?"

He ignores her question, but the concern in his gaze drops a few notches. "That was fucked up." His face swims before her. "Sending Nathan after me." His hand cradles her jaw again, angling it as he inspects the damage. "I can stitch that up," he mutters.

 _He's not taking you to the hospital._ The realization comes to her hazily.

She can feel his nails scrape across her skin as they trace back down to her throat. She can't tell, but she thinks he's smiling. His eyes trail down her body before meeting her gaze again and doubling before her. Now there are four pairs of eyes burrowing into her. His fingers seem to dance across her throat.

"I didn't send Nathan after you," she says and tries to push him aside. His other arm coils around her and she sways against him.

"I don't know why the hell you keep running back to him. It could have been you he slammed against the tree." Craning his neck, he examines the empty sidewalk around them. He rubs her shoulder almost soothingly.

"Get—get off me," she says, her voice strangled against the fingers slowly digging into her trachea.

"Max, come on." He loosens his grip on her throat. "Let's just get in the car, get you cleaned up, and then we can talk."

She tries to jerk away but her reflexes feel too slow and she ends up leaning into him. She feels something cold press into her throat and it bites into her skin much more sharply than his nails.

"Will you listen to me now?" he whispers.

She stands stock-still, closing her eyes to block out his face.

"I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to do this." He drags the knife lightly across her throat. She can feel blood bubble angrily at its point. "You were mine," he breathes into her ear.

She shudders and kicks blindly beside her.

He easily avoids her legs and presses the knife deeper.

"Warren," she breathes. "This isn't…you can't do this." The blade bites even more with her words.

"I'm kind of tired of people saying that. I can decide for myself what I can and can't do."

She tries to force her lips to move with the words crowding her head, tries to push against him. "This isn't a game."

He jostles the blade against her. "Shh. I'm the one with the knife, remember?"

Wiry brunette with thick-framed glasses.

 _Sam. Sam. Sam._

She wonders if he'd pressed Sam against a wall as well, a knife between his fingers. She wonders if there was another girl before her. The cat from her nightmare lies broken before her. It stares up at her with Sylvia's eyes. There are bones sticking up from the ground.

"I'm not so easy to ignore when I've got the knife, am I?" He leans down so his face is level with hers. "Nathan's not here now. I am. So, you're going to listen to me."

"You need to let me go."

She feels his breath against her cheek as he scoffs. "You know, I had you first. I know you better than he ever will."

She pauses, feeling the blade bob as she swallows. "What are you talking about?"

"You never really forgot, did you?" He shakes his head. His other hand rests at her waist, fingers trailing where her shirt has risen. "I mean, you've been obsessing over these dreams for weeks. You made up your own little fucked up world. It's like you didn't want to forget."

Her memories flash through her like bursts of lightning, his voice overlapping with each memory.

 _Please. Stop avoiding me. We're good for each other. You know that, right? We fit together._

 _Why would you leave me? Why can you love this but not me?_

 _Just tell me what I did. I'll make up for it, whatever it is._

 _I want to show you. Let me show you._

 _Are you okay? Let me fix it up for you, okay? Don't worry. I'll fix it._

 _How lonely is it? When you don't have me? When you don't have anyone?_

 _You need me. We need each other. So just come back down, okay? Come down and we'll forget all this. It doesn't matter anymore._

 _It's okay. Don't worry. It's okay._

Hands at her shoulders. Hands at her neck. Brick against her head. Pain like star fire at the back of her head.

 _It's okay. Don't worry. It's okay._

Lips warm against her forehead, fingers insistent at the back of her head.

 _It's okay. Don't worry. It's okay._

"No," Max says, shaking her head, even with the knife against her, even though the movement makes everything scream in pain.

 _This isn't real,_ she thinks frantically _._ She grasps at Warren's hand, just for something to lock her in the moment.

Warren smiles down at her hand, mistaking the gesture for pleading.

"I'm not going with you," she insists, letting her arm drop back to her side.

His smile quickly dies. "I can hurt you," he says quietly. He trails the knife down her neck, resting it between her collarbones. The movement sends a shudder down her spine and he cradles her closer to him. "I don't want to though." He drags the knife lower until it rests at her waist.

"Like her?" She tries to keep her voice steady, ignoring the steel that he trails back up towards her chest, the fuzziness crowding her head again.

"I didn't want to hurt her either," he says, still quiet.

"But you did." A flash of bones sticking up from the ground, muddy hands trying to dig them free, tattered fabric fluttering in the wind. "You killed her. You left her to be forgotten."

"I didn't—" She feels the knife falter before pressing closer a second later. "It wasn't as if we could let her go to waste." He's rambling now, his eyes glazed and looking past her before his face blurs again. "I wouldn't have been able to do it by myself. I couldn't—I'm not like that."

"We?" she manages to ask. "What did you do?"

"No, you can't—Ask me something better. Ask me how I found you so quickly. Did you even know I was tracking your phone? Your laptop? For months, really. But then you got a new phone and I had to hack into it all over again."

"Why?" she asks. Logic is slipping from her again. She can't grab onto anything that isn't a question.

"Why else?" he counters.

 _You were mine._

 _Pay attention. You're not focusing._ Jefferson's voice from her dream floats back to her.

She tries to shake her head, but he holds her still. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

She can feel him studying her and he presses the knife gently against between her ribcage. "I don't want to," he says again. "You weren't supposed to go to _him._ This isn't how it's supposed to be. I saved you from the roof. You were supposed to come to me."

She sees herself standing on the roof again, his arms braced against her, trying to pull back. His words being swallowed into the rain. She can barely recall them.

 _You need me. We need each other. So just come back down, okay? Come down and we'll forget all this. It doesn't matter anymore._

 _It's okay. Don't worry. It's okay._

"No." She yelps when the knife point pricks her. It sends feeling back into her lips for another moment. "You didn't want to save me. You just wanted to save yourself. And I was the prize." She shakes her head, sending another burst of pain through it. "I'm not your prize."

"Stop." He presses harder, the tip burrowing itself into her skin. "Stop talking like that." He pushes the knife deeper.

She swallows against the pain, but the sound that escapes her doesn't even sound human.

He stops pushing and frowns down at her. "Come on, Max. Work with me here."

"...Sick," she tries to say. "Fucking sick."

"Shut up!" The knife slips deeper—two inches, three—and she screams at the burst of pain.

His eyes widen and he pulls the blade free, watching as the blood pools onto her shirt. His eyes grow wider as he stares down at the knife. "Shit. It's okay. I can stitch that up, too. No big deal."

A shriek bursts from her lips and she clamps her jaw closed.

"Max," he says softly and presses a kiss to her forehead. "No more games, okay? I just want you to get into the car."

"And what?" she whispers.

His lips trail down towards her jaw, right where a cut is, and a new flash of pain runs through her. "It's not that complicated."

"No." The word doesn't feel nearly as loud as it does in her head.

He tugs her forward and she stumbles over his feet. "Get in the car, Max."

 _Get in the car. Get in the car._

 _But that didn't happen. It was just a nightmare._

 _Another warped timeline._

 _Was it?_

There are too many voices in her head.

 _Too many Maxes._

The movement makes the grogginess worse. Everything spins and dumps her upside down.

But then she sees Warren on the ground beside her, his hands flying to his face as a flurry of fists meets them. She hears the roar of yelling, of screaming, the clatter of the knife as it's thrown to the ground. She feels the world tip forward again. She sees Warren's hand fumble for the knife. She sees him wrench it up between bloody fingers and thrust forward weakly. She feels her hand grasp his, push against it, push against him with the last of her strength. He's already falling against her.

Just as the blackness creeps in over her eyes, over everything, she feels her legs give out as someone catches her. The sound of a car door echoes faintly around her, then silence.


	19. Chapter 19

Max doesn't realize it's started raining until she feels the drops heavy and weighted against her skin. Her head is roaring now but she pushes herself up into a sitting position. She's not on the ground beside the laundromat. She's back on the school roof. As she rises to her feet, she feels herself drawn to the edge, her toes tipping her forward.

A hand reaches for her and nudges her back. Max turns to see the woman creature beside her, her gnarled hair a rats' nest that hides her face. Her hand is caked in dirt and blood, the skin as white as the bones beneath. "Do you want to jump?" she asks, sweeping aside her hair. Max can see the milky death of her eyes, the blue pupils that seem to fade into black as if they're slowly coming alive. The wide slit of her mouth seems to stich itself into a pair of lips that shrink and pull color around her. They flush pink with new blood.

"What are you?" Max chokes out, backing away from her. "Who are you?"

The woman smiles, but in a face that looks more human than creature now, it looks almost lonely. "Do you want to jump?" she repeats.

"No," Max replies. The world around her seems to be crumbling into chaos. The buildings sway and fold in on each other, as if they were made of air and not metal and stone. The sky is gray; even the trees look gray and listless, their branches twisted and falling into the ground. The ground itself seems to have vanished. All Max sees as she peers down below her is darkness.

"What if you could fly instead?" Nathan stands beside her now. He glances up at the sky, watching a seagull soar past. It bursts into flames, raining ash onto the darkness below.

"It's too much, flying," Max finds herself saying. Ash scatters onto her skin and when she tries to brush them aside, there's only a dusting of freckles instead.

"Flying's a lot like falling," Nathan says, turning towards her. "We're all falling." He shoots her one last grin before he tips over the edge, disappearing before he's even fallen over.

Max shrieks, reaching for the empty air beside her. She nearly tumbles after him. She screams again; the darkness below her swallows the sound.

"It's not real," she says, shaking her head and backing away from the edge. "None of this is real."

The woman standing next to her simply stares back at her. "Do you want to jump?" she asks again.

"Where is he?" Max yells.

"Max." She hears his voice call out but she can't pinpoint its origin.

"Do you want to jump?" the woman repeats.

"I can't," Max whispers, backing away even farther.

"You need me." Warren's voice seems to float up from the darkness. "We need each other. So just come back down, okay? Come down and we'll forget all this. It doesn't matter anymore."

"I can't," Max says again. Everything is fire and darkness around her. "This isn't real. I can't jump and I can't run away. Can I wake up?"

"Do you want to?" the woman asks.

Max blinks as she takes in her slack expression. Her face doesn't even look real, but like a mask painted on, a place-holder.

Max shakes her head again. "No," she says, drawing out the word. "No, because if I didn't rewind, then why would I create this? _Why would I want to?_ "

The woman's blue eyes watch her curiously.

Max tilts her head, trying to discern the solidness of the woman's limbs, the reality of her face.

The woman matches her movement, head tilting, lips parting slightly.

"Who are you?" Max asks again and the woman mirrors her words, gasping afterwards just as Max does.

Max steps forward and the woman does as well. Their feet touch. She peers down to see twin pairs of Converses and when she looks up, the woman waves a hand in front of her face, leaving a reflection of Max's staring back at her.

Max glances down at the darkness that seems to be pulsing now, as if something's calling out to her.

"You can't rewind."

The face that meets her looks older, even though it mirrors hers. Her eyes are bloodshot and yellow and look as if they have journeyed further than the rest of her have. Dried blood flecks across her arms and has dug into the crook of her elbows.

"Who are you?" Max asks once again.

"Who do you think?" the other Max challenges. "There's only one real demon here, Max."

A puddle of blood appears between their feet, slowly growing. There's a deep ache in her stomach and Max feels her thoughts clashing again. She can't remember where she was a moment ago, but she knows something is urging her forward. That there isn't much time for questions or conversations. And there's something in the other Max's eyes that seem to tell her that as well. But still, she hesitates, as if she knows there are some answers that need to be said.

"Can't rewind? Or couldn't?" Max asks. She can't even keep the original timeline together in her head. Chloe died. Rachel in the Dark Room. Jefferson. Warren. Four broken cat limbs.

 _Do you want to jump?_

 _Yes._

The answer leaps out of her, desperate, broken, and raw.

Because whatever is down there is the truth, cloaked in the surrounding darkness, and she isn't jumping so much as—

"I thought I was saving her," Max whispers. Her mouth fills with the coppery taste of blood. "All the times I went back for Chloe. I was saving her. But if she's been here the whole time, then why did I go back?"

The other Max smiles, a sad patient turn of her lips. It's as if she's known this would be what Max would ask. As if she's asked it before. As if the answers facing her now are ones she's heard thousands of times before.

A drop of blood forms in the corner of the other Max's eye. She blinks it away, sending it cascading past her cheek. She sighs, collapsing onto the ground next to Max. Everything in her pops and crackles. She drops her hands into her lap and hunches over them, as if even that is too much effort.

"You build worlds, Max. You build worlds you think are safe. But something always falls through the cracks. So, you try to change it. And something else falls through. And it continues, on and on, until everything is stretched and snagged and falling apart."

"What the hell do I do? Can I go back again?" Max wants to grab the woman and shake her, make her words fall before her like weights that will hold her down, that will tell her everything. Her hands are shaking so much that she can't hold them still.

The woman grabs her hands and stills them for her. "You can't go back, Max. You're going to have to throw yourself forward. Tie everything together, make some sense out of it."

"Make sense of what?" Max whispers, studying the woman before her—the ancient eyes bleeding freely now, the gnarled joints of her fingers around her hands, the deep lines set around her mouth. "What's left?"

The woman smiles and with the blood framing her mouth, it's a horrible, twisted thing. "There's a reason why you kept going back. Now, it's time to jump." The flames are around them now. And as she lets go, the first flames jump at the other Max's hands, her face, then enveloping her all together. She fades into the fire before it seems to fold into itself and inch towards the real Max.

She wonders how many times she'd rewound, how many times she'd dreamt, how many worlds she'd built. How many things those yellowed eyes before her have seen. They looked older than time itself.

The fire is creeping closer.

Below her, the darkness seems to pulse faster. She can spot something in the middle, a door, perhaps. Ivy crawls upwards, wrapping around the handle, feeding its way through the cracks. But she knows that it will turn when she opens the handle, regardless of how much it will resist when she pushes through.

Slowly, everything weaves together. The alley and Warren. The world she's spent this past month, realer than the others—the only real one— though she's rewritten the worst parts, rearranged them. Covered them with ivy.

And the Max that is left feels herself falling from the roof, pushing past the door before her. The door that's been warped and abandoned for far too long. The air rushing towards her is screaming.

She vaguely feels a swell of pavement beneath her, blood in her mouth, the world swirling around her in a sea of red and blue. She hears someone groan beside her. Someone's leg is across hers, heavy and unmoving.

"Was any of it real?" she murmurs. Her head feels both hot and cold at the same time. She can feel the sweat roll off her skin, the shivers that rack through her.

A warm hand grasps her, squeezing lightly. "Hold on," a voice says beside her. It almost sounds like Nathan. She feels the blackness crawl in again.

"Hold on," Max repeats.

There's nothing but silence that answers her.

It's like this— the school bell screeching overhead, startling Max at her desk. The crowd of students pushing past her as if she doesn't even exist. No one apologizes when they bump against her shoulders. No one casts her a second look when they knock her bag onto the floor. Snatches of conversation thread themselves around her. She backs up, past the lockers, through the hallway, in front of the main doors where the warm air outside can only mean August.

Kate walks past, talking with a girl beside her. Her eyes slide past Max without acknowledgement.

Max bumps into someone who yelps in surprise. "Sorry," she mutters, whirling around to see Victoria's scowl.

"Watch where you're going," she growls, skirting around Max as if she's contagious.

Nathan follows her, tossing an arm across her shoulders. He glances back at Max, his face completely emotionless as he catches sight of her. Then he turns away, laughing at something Victoria said.

"Don't worry about them," someone says beside her.

Max jumps, knocking her bag to the floor.

Warren picks it up and offers it to her with a slight smile.

She hesitates before slinging it back over her shoulder. She finds herself returning her smile. "Thanks."

"Max, right? I think you were in my history class last year. I'm Warren." He holds out a hand and she glances at it before taking it cautiously.

"Yeah. I remember you. You were Sam's friend. Thanks," she finds herself repeating and winces. She avoids his eyes as she skirts around him towards the cafeteria.

The cafeteria has always been too large for Max—one room with tables pushed randomly together for large groups. The tables and space left behind seem to swallow the one person that's left behind. There's always one person left behind.

Max stands in line, watching the trays pile up around her. They clank loudly against the metal counter and she flinches. There are too many strangers, noises stuffed inside bodies that only look vaguely familiar. Just as she is to them. Passing through, even if they have been stuck at a crossroads for two years now.

 _Only two more years left,_ she tells herself.

"Do you want the chicken?" the lady in front of her asks, pointing at it with her spatula.

Max glances over at the chicken then at the other option, which looks like some form of salad.

"I should have just brought my lunch," the girl behind her shouts over Max's head. Another girl shouts in agreement. The clank of impatient trays and silverware suddenly feels much louder. The room feels too small, too crammed with people all pushing down the line.

"Chicken?" the lady asks again and Max stares, trying to focus on the food in front of her, the fact that she needs to pick something so the line can move. The trays push down again, sending Max's sliding away from her. She grabs onto it, which causes the trays beside her to overlap.

"Move it along," someone down the line shouts. Someone else bumps in front of her.

"I'm sorry," Max says and backs away from the line, leaving her tray behind. She whirls around just as she crashes into someone and sends their tray clattering to the floor. Red Jell-o splatters onto her shirt and face. She raises a trembling hand to wipe it away from her eyes.

"Whoa, you okay?" Warren stares down at her, covered in rice and clumps of Jell-o.

"I'm sorry," she says again and pushes through the crowd. The hallway leading from the cafeteria is right there, just within reach, if she can just block out the noise, the brushing of too many arms against her.

She collapses against the wall as soon as she's free and feels herself slide to the floor. She closes her eyes, tries to block out the clank of forks on plates, like symbols crashing against her ears. The shouts that seem to battle each other to be heard.

"Hey."

Her eyes snap open to see Warren against the other wall. He holds out a wrapped sandwich and smiles. "I come bearing gifts."

She shakes her head and closes her eyes again.

She hears him sink to the floor across from her, the crinkle of plastic as he unwraps the sandwich. "The first day back is hard. Getting used to the craziness again. Must be pretty quiet at home, huh?"

Max stays quiet but sighs. Her hands are cool against the floor, still and stabilizing. The noise from the cafeteria is nothing but murmuring now, the occasional clanks of plates and trays muffled from the distance.

"It's not really something I get used to," she mutters.

He tosses another sandwich towards her and her eyes snap open. "Don't worry about it," he says. "It's better out here anyway."

They eat in silence, Warren stretched out across from her as she leans against the wall. It's a strange form of sanctuary, a pocket of quiet within the loud. Their only conversation is the crinkle of plastic wrap from their sandwiches. She doesn't need it—the company nor the food—but she can't deny it feels almost nice, like sunlight on a cold day. Unexpectedly welcomed.

The next day, when she debates on facing the line five minutes earlier, Warren meets her in the hallway, a sandwich in each hand. He smiles.

"Shall we?" he asks.

She tilts her head with a smile of her own. "Yeah, sure."

They settle next to their respective walls, the cafeteria almost all but forgotten behind them.

"I could get used to this," he says between bites. He glances down at his lap and dusts off a scattering of crumbs.

"Someone will get on to us, eventually," she replies. Time doesn't stand still in the hallway beside the cafeteria. She knows this isn't an everyday thing and she doesn't expect it. She doesn't need someone to bring her sandwiches and remind her that sometimes things are too big and too much.

But Warren doesn't do that.

There are a handful of people she remembers seeing him with. Sam and Kate, mostly. And then just Kate. Most of the time he's just as solo as she is. She wonders if he's ever sat alone in a hallway. She wonders how often.

"A couple of delinquents loitering in the hallway." He grins behind his sandwich. "Yeah, we'll be expelled for sure."

She pulls at the crust of her sandwich, unwinding it and rolling it into a spiral in her palm. "Well, not expelled," she points out, but she smiles regardless.

"Max."

"Don't," she says into her pillow, pressing her face closer so that her words are muffled. "I don't want to hear it."

"Max," he says again. He lies down beside her and she can feel him studying her. "Don't listen to Victoria. You're not a freak. You're not going to die alone. She doesn't know what the hell she's talking about."

"I said I don't want to talk about it," she argues.

"Max." He rests a hand against her chin and turns her head so that she's facing him. "Don't you see how amazing you are?"

She blinks at him, wide-eyed, and immediately tries to turn her head away. "That's not what—"

"Well, you are to me," he says, his voice low. He catches her chin with his hand and scoots closer to her. "Who cares what anyone else thinks? They don't mean anything."

The photography club she'd tried had been a bust. All it had taken was Victoria showing up and taking over. "If you don't have your own camera, don't even bother showing up," she'd said, flashing her new role as club president. Max wouldn't have put it past her if she'd bullied everyone into voting for her. No one would have done it willingly. But then, she'd seen the some of them had looked at her. Maybe they had voted for her.

"I'm sorry, Max," her mom had said. "We can't get a camera right now. Maybe if you check the thrift stores around here you can find something. Or we could try next year."

She doesn't think she could face another person without a camera between them.

She doesn't need that shield with Warren. Talking with him had always been easy, in a way that often feels like it shouldn't. Sometimes, it feels like Warren's talking just to fill space. Sometimes, it feels as if his words are a blanket he's tossing out to wrap around her.

He's suddenly close enough that his breath fans against her face. His eyes swim before her, calm against her anxious ones. And before she can even contemplate what's happening, his lips press to hers. Gentle. Light. Like a feather against her lips.

Then he rolls away and sits up, as if it had never happened in the first place.

She jerks away and rubs at her lips as if that will rub away his presence.

Warren seems oblivious. He folds his hands against his head and leans against her headboard. He stares down at her, smile still soft at his lips. "Don't listen to them," he says again.

Max leans against the side of Warren's house and checks the time on her phone. "If we're late, it's your fault this time," she shouts towards the open garage next door. "I'm not the one who wanted to go."

"Okay, okay," Warren shouts back. "One more second."

She sees him peek out from the door leading into the garage before he shakes his head and steps through. "The museum doesn't even close till five. We're good."

"I'm not the one who'll miss it," she reminds him.

"You will when you see it. They've got a whole exhibit dedicated to Planet of the Apes." He grins as he makes his way over to her.

"Mmhmm," she says. She casts a polite smile to the man behind Warren. "Hi, Mister Jefferson."

He smiles in return and grabs one of the boxes against the garage wall. "Afternoon, Max. I'll guess I'll see you next Saturday?" He faces Warren who turns around to nod.

Warren leans over to swipe Max's phone and check the time. "Yeah, we'll make it," he says.

"I still think it's weird," she says, following him towards his car, "that you hang out with our English teacher."

"He makes his own photo developer. People can be good at a multitude of things." He glances away from her. "We've been doing projects and stuff for years. No big deal, really."

"What, do you make developer together in the basement or something?" She laughs but he doesn't return it. His smile is tight against his lips.

"No, it's like…anatomy. Nothing you'd be interested in anyway."

"It's still weird," she says. "But I guess you've always been the teacher's pet." She reaches up to ruffle his hair and he dodges her hand.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with being a teacher's pet. You'll see senior year when you're trying to get recommendations for college. Don't come crying my way."

"I'm trying to picture you setting up a skeleton display with Mr. Jefferson and I just can't. All I hear is Hamlet shouting in the foreground of my mind."

Warren's smile grows tighter and he shakes his head. "Let's just go, all right?"

Max grabs the sides of the box in her arms, trying to lean it closer against her for more balance. The lab equipment inside clinks almost angrily and for one terrified moment, she thinks she will drop it anyway.

"Warren," she calls out across the hall. "Mrs. Grant said you wanted these for your project." She hadn't even gotten a chance to protest before the box had been dropped into her arms. Because, of course, she would run into Warren. Sometimes, she feels as if she's attached to him, that no one can see her without seeing him. She grips the box a little too tightly and the box clinks even louder.

Warren is down the hall by his locker, but it's only when he shifts to the side that she realizes he was leaning on someone else's. A girl's whose cheeks are flushed as she smiles at him and flushes even darker at Max's voice.

Warren turns around, his own smile faltering before growing into an even warmer one. "Hey. Are those for me?"

"Definitely not mine," Max replies, glancing quickly at the girl beside him.

"I'll see you later," the girl murmurs. She shuts her locker before turning away.

Max doesn't hand him the box and it's only when Warren tugs it from her that her attention jerks back towards him.

"Something wrong?" he asks.

"No." She shrugs as she watches the girl retreat down the hall. "Are we still on for the movie?"

His smile slowly fades as he takes in her expression. "I'll pick you up at five?"

"Sounds good." She turns away from him, fishing her earphones out of her pocket and dropping them to the floor. She reaches to pick them up but Warren's already scooped them up and holding them out to her. A frown is tight at the corner of his lips.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine. No damage." She waves her earphones before attempting to place them in but he quickly stops her.

"She's just a friend," he rushes to say.

Max feels her cheeks grow warm and she shakes her head. It's not that she doesn't believe him, even though she's not so sure she does, but that he thinks he needs clarify it to her, that there's a suggestion they're more than friends.

"It's fine," she says, shrugging again.

"No." He drops her hand, the crease of his frown growing even more. "You're not fine."

She smiles and shoves him lightly. He tenses at her touch. "You can date whoever you want. It just surprised me. I don't know why, but I never really pictured you dating anyone."

"I'm not dating her." There's a slight edge to his voice. "I don't want to date anyone. I just—" He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. "Don't worry about it. I'll see you at five?"

"Yeah," she says, her smile slowly dying. "See you at five."

Max pulls the blanket closer around her, nuzzling against the pillows she'd stacked behind her. The movie is two-thirds over, but she can barely remember it. Something Warren had picked, that the movie they'd gone to see had reminded him of. It's always something he picks. Her room is full of movies and games he'd leant her, her phone full of his music, her bookshelf full of his books. If she'd strip it all away, she doesn't know what would be left—a skeleton missing its vital organs, its protective skin.

Warren is leaning against the other side of the pillows, a wall between them that isn't a wall at all. She can feel the pillows rise with his breath, feel his hair against her neck. She shifts away but he finds his way back to her, too warm and too close.

Her eyes drift closed and she stops shifting, the pillows too comfortable to focus on anything else. It's only when she feels lips against her neck, fingertips brushing across her shoulder that her eyes fall open again.

"What are you doing?" Her voice is hoarse from sleep.

"Sorry." He yanks his hand away and rolls his shoulders back, the joints crackling in protest. "Fell asleep." His eyes narrow at someone's intestines dropping to the floor. "How do you think they research that? The physics and everything…do you think it's accurate?"

Max yawns and rolls away from him. She takes one of the pillows with her. She wants to rub at her neck, to pull the blanket over it tightly. "I don't know. I don't think they put that much thought into it."

"They always put thought into it," he argues, but falls silent again. His forehead crinkles as he gets taken in by the movie again.

If it was Victoria laughing, Max could ignore it. She can't pinpoint a time where Victoria isn't laughing at her or mocking her for something.

It's the others that get to her. The echo of laughter surrounding her—uncomfortable laughter, maybe, but laughter regardless.

And Victoria stands there, her hands open as she watches Max's now empty bag float to the top of the fountain. Her textbooks, notebooks, her laptop now sinking like the fucking Titanic.

Warren snatches up the laptop before it can sink even farther.

"Oops." Something in Victoria's eyes flashes, and Max thinks maybe she's realized she'd gone too far. But then Victoria smiles. She pulls the bag free with two fingers and holds it out, dripping, towards Max. "You dropped this."

And then she laughs.

Max stares down at the fountain, at the butterfly keychain that's now bobbing on the surface, broken. The extra socks she'd brought for gym float beside them.

And that's when she hears it, the soft snickers that she could have imagined if she'd known better.

"What's wrong with you?" Warren asks Victoria, yanking the bag and pushing it towards Max.

She takes it wordlessly and turns away, not even bother to hear whatever it is that Warren's yelling at her. Instead, she walks away, following the sidewalk until it leads far away from the school. Until the sidewalk ends. She walks until she can't anymore.

A junkyard looms around her. A breeze whips past and she can hear it creak past the broken metal of scrapped cars. There are boxes and piles of things people wanted to leave forgotten. She picks up an old doll that looks rotten. Half of its face is chipped away and she runs a finger over the cracked porcelain. It's probably as old as her grandmother. She tosses it back down.

She's still studying the piles when her shoe catches on something and she tumbles to the ground. Whatever she'd tripped over digs into her hand, sharp like a stick. But when she pulls her hand away, it's not a stick poking out of the ground. It looks like bone.

She shrieks and scrambles away. But the piles around her all look the same. The junkyard is big—much bigger than she'd first anticipated. She loops around several times, trying to find the exit. It's by an old car that she doesn't remember passing that Warren finds her, shouting as he tries to peer around the piles.

"Did you even hear me calling?"

She looks blankly past him and falls to her knees.

"What happened?" He bends down so that he's eye-level with her. "What's wrong?"

"There's…" She points to a corner of the junkyard, probably not the right corner, but she trails off when she meets his eyes. They stare back at her with an edge of panic. She knows it's because she's freaked out, but it's as if he knows exactly what she's talking about.

"What is it?" he presses and she notices his eyes flick towards the ground where she'd pointed, as if he's looking for something. 

"Nothing," she says, looking past him again. "I thought I heard a wolf."

"There aren't any wolves around here," Warren says slowly.

She laughs but the sound feels too wrong. "No," she says. "Of course not."

"Let's get out of here." He barely looks behind him as he leads her towards his car.

"How did you know where to find me?" she asks.

"I didn't," he says. He pulls his keys from his pocket and drops them to the ground. His hand shakes as he tries to pick them back up. "I've been driving around for the past thirty minutes. After this, I was starting to run out of ideas."

It doesn't feel like thirty minutes have passed, but time has a slippery grip on her these days.

"Are you sure?" Warren asks, leaning back into his chair. It wobbles as he drops his feet onto the table between them. "I mean, you know Kate. You'd like her. And we could use the extra brains."

Max balls up a piece of paper and tosses it in his direction. "You make it sound like you're planning on harvesting my brain."

He ducks the paper easily. "Come on, you know you're much more than that." He winks and the chair drops back to its front legs as he leans forward.

"I don't do study groups," she protests.

"It's just Kate and me, though. And we just study whatever. No pressure or anything."

Max pauses, remembering how two years ago, it had been three of them. How he had followed Sam everywhere except to the bathroom. And then suddenly, he hadn't. It was as if she had been wiped from existence, judging from Warren's expressions. Never sad or lonely. Just his usual easy smile and, when that wavered, a face of indifference. She used to envy it, the way he seemed to let everything roll off him.

And she remembers how he'd looked when he found her in the junkyard, shaken over the stick she'd stumbled over— _bone, it was a bone—_ how anxious he seemed, much more so than her. He'd barely talked the rest of the ride home. He kept having to correct the wheel as he drove. It was the only time she'd ever seen him look upset and it left her even more shaken.

"Hey," she says, dropping her voice low. Her hand stills against another piece of paper she'd been balling up. "Do you ever think about Sam? I mean, you guys were close once. Do you miss her?"

His shoulders tense for a moment before he rolls them back. He lowers his head to read over something in his notes. The silence growing between them makes her wonder if he'd forgotten to answer.

"God," he finally says with a small laugh. He doesn't look up. "That was so long ago. What brought that on?"

Max shrugs and goes back to work crinkling her paper into a ball. "You never talk about her."

"There's not really much to say. People grow apart. They don't stay close forever."

She thinks of Chloe, who she hasn't seen for years, hasn't talked to since she left. She hasn't talked about her either.

He looks up suddenly, his brows knotted as his eyes meet hers. "You're not like her. That's not going to happen to us."

"You can't guarantee that," she points out.

"No, because—" He cuts himself off and looks back down again.

"It's okay to be angry," she says softly. "You don't have to put on a front for everyone. You don't have to for me. I mean, not just Sam. But anything. If something ever bothers you, you can tell me."

She holds her breath, waiting for it. But he simply stares at his notebook, his pen drawing circles repeatedly in the margin.

"Did you," she hesitates again, a third sheet of paper being worked into a ball now, "see something in the junkyard?"

"The junkyard?" His pen stops, drops from his fingers. "What are you talking about?"

"You looked just as shaken up as I did. You saw it, too, didn't you?"

He shakes his head and finally meets her gaze again. There's nothing anxious there, but there's nothing pleasant, either. "I was freaked out because you ran off. What if I couldn't have come? Were you just going to stay there all night?"

She blinks, the balled-up paper falling from her fingers. "I would have gone home," she replies. She doesn't like the way he makes it sound so trivial, as if she doesn't have an ounce of common sense, as if she's delusional.

"What did you see?" he asks slowly.

"I don't know," she replies. "It could have been anything. Maybe I was just spooked. I just thought…it looked like you'd seen something, too." She pushes the balls of paper off the table. "You'd tell me, right? If something was up?"

He hesitates before answering. "I mean, you've got enough stuff on your plate. You don't need my drama, too."

"Warren." She frowns. "Tell me."

"It's not like—nothing's bothering me, okay? I'm not like you. I don't crumple every time—" He cuts himself off again, eyes growing wide as he claps a hand over his mouth. "I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."

She wishes she'd made more paper balls so she could shove them all towards him. Instead, she shoves herself from the table and grabs her bag. She might have pushed him more than she should have, might have asked for answers she didn't have much of a right to, but she didn't think it was too much to ask for something that showed he could be as vulnerable as herself. That there was a reason why he would look so lost in a junkyard where she'd tripped over something like a bone, as if he knew—

"Don't worry about it," she tells him, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She bites at her lip, trying not to envision Chloe buried in the junkyard, years lost and forgotten. _Not the same_ , she tells herself. _Don't worry about it._

"What are you doing?"

Warren's standing at her front door, fist hovering in mid-knock. He stumbles backwards when she opens the door.

"I'm walking over to the park," Max replies, closing the door behind her.

"Oh," he says. "I thought we could do homework together."

She shakes her head as she locks the door.

"Want company?" He flashes a smile as she passes him.

Her hand stalls on the railing and she doesn't look at him. "I kind of wanted to go by myself."

"Oh," he says again, but doesn't move from behind her. He leans against the railing instead. "Is this…because of the library the other day? Because I didn't mean it. You just caught me off guard. I don't think you get upset too easily."

"It's not just that," she admits, still facing away from him. She takes a deep breath, feeling it sting inside her chest. There's a lot about him that makes her uneasy, if she closes her eyes and focuses on it. The kiss neither of them will talk about it. The second one she doesn't even want to think about. The way he sometimes feels too close, as if he's telling her what to think. The amount of him she sees in her reflection frightens her.

"You look good with your hair down," he'd told her once and she'd spent hours afterwards running her fingers through her hair, wondering what it was about hair that could make a person look so much different. And when she'd cut her hair, she'd caught his eyes transfixed on it numerous times, as if he couldn't look away.

 _I didn't do it for him_ , she tells herself, but when her bedroom is ninety percent Warren, it's hard to tell what she hasn't done for him. She doesn't want to be that person.

 _You'll be lonely again,_ another part of herself reminds her.

She just wants some time to herself. Alone versus lonely.

Maybe it was always meant to be that way.

"I like you," he says, so quietly behind her that for a moment, she thinks she's imagined it. "I like hanging out with you. I like being with you. I'm not doing it as a favor to you or anything."

"It's not just that," she says again.

"No, I mean—" He takes a deep breath and she can almost hear it rattle in his throat. "It's obvious, right? I like you, Max. A lot, really. But I'll keep it to myself if—"

"I need some space." The words rush so quickly from her, that he looks briefly confused.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't think we should hang out as much. I kind of just want some time to myself. For now."

"Time…for what?"

She can feel his weight against the railing, rocking back and forth. She drops her hand away from it, takes another step away. "It's too much, Warren. Sometimes, it's too much."

"What is too much?"

 _You,_ she wants to yell. _This._ She has been drifting for so long, she'd forgotten how to go forward by herself. And all she can think about these days is that damn bone— _no, stick—_ she'd tripped over and the way his eyes were swallowed in anxiety.

"No," he says, his voice barely audible again. "No, I'm not doing this again. You can't—"

"I'm sorry," she says, stepping away from the porch all together, walking away before he can say anything else.

Max packs the last of the books in the box and folds it closed. Her room looks bare compared to a week ago, as if she's clearing aside possessions from a deceased relative.

 _In a way, I am,_ she thinks bitterly.

There's a knock on her open door and she turns to find Kate, a thin smile on her face. "You weren't in class today. I thought I'd drop off my notes for our history project."

"Oh," Max says, pushing the box aside to make room. "Thanks. I'll have my half done by this weekend."

Kate nods, but her attention is on the blank walls, the empty bookshelves, the boxes stacked between them. "All this was Warren's?"

"Yeah," Max says and toes another box closed.

"He said you guys were having a fall out or something."

"Or something," Max echoes.

Kate nods again. She runs her finger along one of the empty shelves, brushing the dust aside. "What are you going to fill them with?"

"I don't know," Max admits, eyeing the shelves, trying to imagine them filled with books that weren't science-fiction or horror. She didn't even have books before Warren, save for the ones she'd scraped off the clearance rack at the bookstore downtown. Classics. Poetry. A few fiction best-sellers. Those might be in a box under her bed.

"I know we don't know each that well," Kate says and Max realizes how ridiculous it sounds—this girl who's been her neighbor for five years, whom she's shared classes and done projects with almost as long, and they're barely more than on a first-name basis. But Kate has gone as far as most, farther perhaps; she's so close to the barrier around her, that her hands are resting on it. "But if you want to come over one day, you can borrow one of my books. Anything you like. I raid books from garage sales every summer, so I have everything from romantic classics to murder mysteries." She smiles again. "I might not have read the murder mysteries, but they were five for a dollar, so I couldn't resist."

"I think I'd like that," Max replies, matching her smile.

She pulls out the box from under her bed. The first book she places on her bookshelf is a collection of Sylvia Plath's poetry.

Sylvia doesn't come home. In the few weeks Max has had her, she's never wandered too far from the house and she always avoids the cars nearby. Max paces the road back and forth calling for her; her dad drives around the block; her mom checks the shelters nearby. They all come home empty-handed.

Then, she spies Warren behind the alley next to the school. Behind the shops she passes when she walks home. Warren, with his hands covered in blood, a broken cat in his arms. Sylvia.

"Why would you leave me?" he cries, shaking the cat. "Why can you love _this_ but not me?"

Max presses herself against the wall, trying to still her breathing. Trying to be unseen, even though it feels as if her heart will burst out of her chest. A scream pushes itself into her throat, tight and ugly as she bites it back.

"Fuck." He sets the cat down and caresses its bloody fur. "What did I do?" He kicks at a nearby trashcan. "Why?" he shouts, kicking it again and again.

Max pushes herself away from the wall, running out of sight, out of earshot, away from the scream that finally tears itself loose from her.

She doesn't know why she's at the junkyard when it's pouring rain. The mud is squelching underneath her feet and it's so slippery that she can barely walk. It takes her several tries to find the spot where she'd tripped. It's only the rotted doll that gave it away, still in the same place where Max had tossed it.

The shovel she'd dragged behind her is heavy and slips out of her hands. She barely manages a good grip but because the ground it so muddy, the hole gives way easily. Easily enough that she can see the thin stretch of bone, the tattered plaid of a shirt quickly becoming plastered to it. That's all there is. One bone. But unmistakably human.

 _Does Warren know about this?_ she thinks, letting the shovel slip free from her grasp again. _Is there more?_

She can feel her phone buzzing in her pocket and jerks away from the bone as if whoever's on the other line can see her.

She runs out of the junkyard as quickly as her legs will carry her.

She's barely made it a few feet from the entrance when she sees him. She's not surprised he's found her here. He always seems to know where she is and if she'd thought about it, if she just thought about it longer than a second, she would have wondered why. But she wants to think it's just like last time and because he's looked everywhere else.

It doesn't stop her from asking him, though.

"Why are you here?"

Warren's standing beside his car, leaning forward on the open door. The wind is blowing rain sideways into the car, but he doesn't give a second glance at it. Lightning flickers overhead, casting shadows across his face. "You're not answering your phone." He frowns down at her. "I was worried."

The car's headlights cast shadows against her legs as well. There is a car between them and for the first time in months, it's the furthest they've been from one another.

"You know what's there." She blinks rain from her eyes, even though more of it drips from her hair right back down onto her face. As soon as she says it aloud, she knows it's the truth. She's denied it long enough. Warren is carefully controlled, except when he isn't, and he can never hide it in his eyes. She can see it when he's angry, simmering in his gaze, the pull of his brows. She can hear it in his tone, too tight even when his words are soft. He's more transparent than he thinks.

And she hates it—this secret that he's never hinted at, this secret that is so big that it's buried in a junkyard. It makes her feel as if she knows nothing about him.

"Max," he says, her name falling like a sigh, and the wind quickly swallows that up as well. "It's pouring rain. You can't even see in front of you. Let me take you home."

"It'll stop soon," she says, as if it's sprinkling instead of sheets of rain around them. If he won't tell her, then she wants to be nowhere near him.

"Are you punishing me or something? Is that what this is? I'm sorry, okay? I hate this."

She shakes her head, not replying.

"I can't—I can't stop thinking about you." There it is, the tightness in his voice, coiled up like a spring ready to lunge forward. "I don't want to fight anymore."

"We're not fighting," she protests. "There's nothing to fight about." She steps past a puddle and hears him slam his hand against the car door.

"Then why won't you talk to me?"

"You won't talk to me." She stops at another puddle, the water pooling around her ankles even though she can't feel it any longer. "How can I trust you if you won't talk to me?"

"It's not like that," he says flatly. "There's nothing there, Max. There's _nothing there._ You run off and start freaking out about wolves, of course I'm going to worry. But it's just a junkyard. I don't know what to tell you."

 _You're lying,_ she thinks, but a clap of thunder startles the words away from her.

"Please. Stop avoiding me. We're good for each other," he continues. "You know that, right? We fit together."

"What's in the junkyard?" she asks. She finally turns towards him, his eyes narrowed as he contemplates her.

He sighs. "What do you think you saw?"

"I saw the bones," she says. She wants to hear it from him. She wants to hear the words fall from his mouth.

His eyes narrow even further. "No, you didn't. There's no bones, Max. It's a junkyard, not a cemetery."

"You killed my cat." Her shout startles even herself. She's spent years with paper balls at her back, rumors tossed like daggers. Her locker had been desecrated, her gym clothes tossed in mud, soccer balls, dodge balls, and footballs always flying at her whenever she was in range. And he chased them away. Stuck up for her when no one else would. He was easy jokes and laughter, patient with her when all she felt like doing was screaming. It almost feels wrong to push him away now. But the end of her bed is cold and silent because of him. Her heart broken as much as her cat. Someone desecrated and buried underground. All she can see is what's broken and what can no longer be put together.

"You killed her. Why, Warren? Why the hell would you do that?"

His eyes are wide now. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw you, goddamnit. I _saw_ you."

"It's okay, Max," he says, as if she'd told him she'd seen a monster under her bed, that the boogeyman is in her closet. That she'd told him anything except what had happened.

 _It's for show,_ she thinks, _it's all for show._

"Don't do this." His eyes are still wide and pleading. "I love you." Rain streams down his face in rivulets. He looks as if he's drowning. "No one else could. Not like this. I promise that. Max, _I love you._ "

She turns again and runs, her feet catching in puddles, but it doesn't slow her. She runs until she can't catch her breath, till the rain has slowed and the sky is gray and silent above her. She runs until the sidewalk gives way to a grassy lawn that isn't hers. She runs until she can't anymore.

Warren knocks on her door, a cat bundled in his arms—warm, alive, and Sylvia. Except it's not. She can see it, she can tell, in the way her face scrunches up when Warren places her in her arms, the hue of her eyes not quite the same. How he'd manage to find a cat so remarkably similar makes her uneasy, the same way his smile does now.

"Where'd you find her?" Max's mom asks, and the cat seems distrustful when she tries to scratch behind her ears.

"A friend did," Warren replies. He smiles but Max looks away. "He said she was roaming his neighborhood. It took a lot of networking to find her, actually."

"I'm sure it did," Max says, frowning. She tries to close the door, but his foot catches it.

"What did I do? Just tell me what I did. I'm sorry. I'll make up for it, whatever it is."

"That's all you're sorry for?" The cat is trying to claw its way over her shoulder and Max lets her go.

"I didn't do anything." He holds up his hands in an open surrender. His smile looks puzzled now, but she can see how it doesn't meet his eyes.

"Go home," she says, closing the door again. This time he lets the door close fully.

The first time Max sees Chloe, she's washing her hands in the restroom. Max hears the door slam open, Chloe tailing Nathan whom she hadn't noticed beside her. She sees the gun pulled out, Chloe crumpling to the floor. She screams and pulls the fire alarm but before her hand even drops from the lever, everything's gone. There's only an empty bathroom, and the door slamming open again as a teacher instructs her to head outside with the others.

It comes in waves, hitting her all so suddenly that she's drowning in whatever new world she's been thrown in. Except that it's not new.

It's surprising how much she'd forgotten of Arcadia Bay until she can almost smell the ocean, hear the seagulls in the distance. She can feel the scratch of Chloe's blankets against her legs, smell the bacon sizzling in the kitchen of Two Whales'.

Max sees Chloe with her hair electric blue and a scowl to scorn the world. It's as if she's placed all her bitterness, all her anger into Chloe and she breathes it into life. Max feels invincible.

And then everything snaps back, the waves settling, and everything slightly out of place. Time still passes, even when she passes it elsewhere.

She has papers littered with clues on the Rachel Amber case tacked onto her bulletin board. All that she'd recalled, all that she could remember and could jot down. She thinks this will somehow link her to the junkyard, to Sam, but each time Rachel's name spills from Chloe's lips, the junkyard and Sam feel a little further away, too disconnected. Another bad dream where she can't quite remember all the details. Everything she's written about Sam feels like it came from Rachel and she knows she can't bring all of it to the police. Nightmares can't be evidence.

 _That guy is totally in love with you,_ Chloe tells her when Warren greets them in front of the school and Max feels her spine grow rigid. The truck blurs in and out of focus and she closes her eyes.

Another bad dream.

There's a door in her mind, one where the only nightmares are the ones she controls, and she pushes through it. But she can't exactly control those either; they push through the door, slips of words, memories bright like a flash of a camera. They always push through.

The laughter is still at her back when the door closes behind her. She can still feel invisible hands clawing at her, the flash of Victoria's camera. Her throat is still raw from screaming.

She stumbles into the brick wall beside her and rights herself. Everything is spinning and she feels as if she's everywhere at once.

"Max, what are you doing?"

She groans, hearing the telltale groan of Warren's car before he even calls out to her. She hates how he's always in the background, as if he's waiting for her to reach out for him. As if he knows she will break one day and everything in her head is a lie.

"Go away," she says, her heels dragging on the sidewalk. She wiggles out of them and throws them behind her.

"Come on, get in the car. You can't walk home like that."

"This isn't giving me space," she yells behind her. The ground feels like it's tilting and she leans forward, bracing herself on the sidewalk.

"I gave you space," he says quietly. He's parked the car and is behind her now, righting her as she almost topples into the street. "Is that why you went there?"

"I told you I needed space," she murmurs and her head lolls backwards. "I told you already."

"They only want to hurt you. Can't you see that? Why would you go to them? Come on, I'll take you home."

"They already hurt me. It doesn't…it doesn't matter," she says, trying to right her head. It falls forward this time.

"Hey," a loud voice calls out from behind them. Max jumps and nearly slides out of Warren's arms.

"Let her go," Nathan says, leaning against the wall as if it's the only thing holding him up.

"Don't worry about it. She's fine," Warren says and she feels his fingers digging into her waist.

"Fuck, man. Can't you take a hint? I already…" Nathan waves vaguely around him, as if he's shooing something aside. "I already called a cab. Like…" He peers down at his wrist where there's no watch and frowns. "Like whatever go. Someone had to."

There's a shout of Nathan's name and he turns, looking confused. He heads back towards the door, crashing into the wall as he does.

"I'm taking you home," Warren says and Max pulls at his arm, trying to free herself.

"I'll take the cab," Max says.

"No, I'm not leaving you out here—"

"I don't want to ride with you," she interrupts. "I'm waiting for the cab."

"No. You're not. This is my fault. I made you like this. Let me take you home."

His arms crowd against her and she doesn't know when he'd walked her towards the car but she feels the door against her side. She feels him nudge her into the open car. She leans against the back seat, protests still at her lips even as her eyes slide closed.

She doesn't know when the car has stopped moving, but when she tilts her head to look out the window, it's not her house she's staring at.

"Where—" she tries to ask, but he's suddenly in the backseat, his arms around her, his chest against hers.

"I'm sorry," he tells her. "I love you. I want to show you." He murmurs it against her neck and the world tilts up at her again, everything outside upside down. "Let me show you."

She grabs his hands and pushes them away, but it's almost as if she feels another pair plant themselves somewhere else against her. His lips are hot against her throat. She feels teeth and tongue, sweat like oil against her face.

He is suddenly enormous before her, a shadow blown out of proportion, and she curls herself up, small against his largeness. She jabs her knee into something soft and even though she feels as if she's spinning, she slams her head upwards. It connects against something hard and her head explodes into pain as he cries out.

She fumbles behind her for the door handle, her head crashing against the door and the pavement as she spills onto the ground.

Warren groans and she crawls away as fast as she can manage, which is still much too slow for her preference.

"Oh, my god," he says. His voice echoes and she feels herself sliding further onto the ground, the pavement cold against her cheek. "You're bleeding. Are you okay? Let me fix it up for you, okay? Don't worry. I'll fix it."

The pavement is black, the sky is black. There are lips warm against her forehead, fingers insistent at the back of her head.

"Don't worry about it. Let's just forget this happened, okay? Don't worry. It's okay."

She's vaguely aware of being pulled back into the car, a winding road that seems endless, Warren murmuring something to another person, the bright lights inside a hospital.

"What happened?" Vanessa asks.

"I don't know," Max replies, curled up against the bed railing. A bandage presses heavily around her head.

"Someone tricked her into going to a party. Drugged her. I found her like this outside," Warren says.

Pain stabs at her head and she groans. "I don't remember."

"Max, did someone assault you?" her mom asks, but her voice feels far away and Max leans closer to the railing.

"No. I don't know. I don't remember."

 _Don't forget,_ Chloe tells her and Max feels as if she's being swallowed inside a tornado, that everything is being ripped apart around her.

"I won't forget you," Max whispers, letting the lull of the sleep medication pull her back under.

"Are you okay?"

She feels Warren's whisper at her neck and leans forward, away from his touch. She can hear the giggles next to her and she knows they're rehashing the scene at the party. It's the only thing anyone has been talking about for days now. A balled-up piece of paper hits her from the side and there are more giggles now.

"Max?"

"I'm fine," Max hisses, not bothering to look back at him.

The bell sounds the end of class and Max scoops up her history book and weaves her way through the crowd outside the door.

"Max." Warren's hand catches her as he pulls her away from the doorway.

"I don't want to talk to you," she says, wiggling her hand free.

"What do you remember?" he asks, almost hesitantly. "From the party?"

Max tries to hide her wince as a shrug. "I don't want to talk about it. Why do you care anyway?"

His eyes flick past her face, studying something. She steels her expression, hoping to erase whatever it is he's looking for.

"You don't remember." He seems awestruck and lets out a small laugh as he shakes his head.

"I know what you did," Max whispers. She doesn't remember, exactly. Everything has become so jumbled up in her head, she feels she's throwing marbles and connecting lines between them just to make a pattern. She knows there's a junkyard. Someone named Sam. Or Tess. Or something. That her cat is afraid to go near her now, that she scratches at the door every time Max comes around. And Max had opened the front door, just to see where she would go. She still hasn't come back.

"What's that?" he asks, warm smile on his face. It doesn't reach his eyes.

Max shakes her head and pushes past him. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing even if she had it all dissected in front of her now.

 _Don't even bother,_ Chloe tells her, leaning against the wall across from her.

"Who's Chloe?" he continues and when she turns back to look at him, the smile has grown even wider.

Someone bumps into her from behind, hard enough to send her crashing to the floor.

"What the fuck? You can't just stop in the middle of the fucking hallway," the other person complains, dodging the tangle of her arms and legs.

Max rises to shaky legs and nearly crashes into him again. Her eyes flick upwards to Nathan frowning down at her.

"Gayram bothering you?" he asks and jerks his head towards Warren.

"She's fine," Warren says, the tightness coiling in his voice again.

"Yeah?" Nathan glances back at Max and she knows her cheeks are flushed, her hair every which way, and probably looking as if she's escaped the gates of hell. She feels as if she has. "Why don't you fuck off then? Don't you have chess club or some shit to run off to?"

Max can see the muscles working in Warren's jaw before he turns away. She feels the air in her lungs leave in a rush and realizes she'd been holding her breath. "Thanks," she mutters, a slight smile at Nathan as she turns back towards the main hall.

"Yeah, okay. I don't have time for this shit. I'm already late." He rolls his eyes and walks a wide arc around her, as if he's worried she might crash into him again.

Max doesn't know when one world has absorbed the other. She knows it happens though. She knows there are times she wakes up and there are chunks of times missing, black holes in her memory. She knows there are times where she suddenly realizes she doesn't know where she is or how she had gotten there. She knows there are times where she's sitting in Chloe's room and suddenly she's back at the kitchen table in Seattle. There are times where she hasn't seen Seattle for days. There are times where she forgets she still lives there.

It's raining when she sees Kate on the roof. The Blackwell roof. Her arms outstretched like she might take off in flight.

Max feels herself running in slow motion; she barely feels the rain against her. She feels her rewind stuck in her fingers, the panic blooming in her head as she tries to make it onto the roof.

"It's not worth it," she tells Kate and it's only when she reaches forward that she realizes that it's not Kate, but herself on the edge of the roof. That Warren's hands are soft at her sides, even though she can feel his nails digging into her shirt.

One foot edges away from the roof while the other seems to totter forward.

His hands tighten against her.

And it hits her, white hot and sudden, like the lightning overhead. Sam. The bones. His hands desperate against her.

 _He did it._

It's the only clear bit of reason that threads through her mind.

"You killed her." She looks up at him, watches the lines dig into his forehead as he frowns.

"No," he says, his nails pressing in even further. "I didn't want to hurt her."

"But you did."

He closes his eyes and for a moment his hold loosens before he grabs her shirt, pulling her back against him. "I didn't want to lose her. I don't want to lose you. I can't—I can't do it again."

"Let me go," she whispers.

"Are you going to jump?" His hands smooth against the fabric of her shirt before grabbing hold of it again, as if he thinks she will jump the second he fully lets go.

She glances down at the ground which feels miles below her, worlds apart. She doesn't even remember making it up here, doesn't remember anything except the wind howling above her and the rain cold against her face.

"How lonely is it?" he murmurs, close enough that the rain hasn't swallowed up his words. "When you don't have me? When you don't have anyone?"

"Shut up," she whispers and closes her eyes. She's not afraid to admit that some days it feels like she can't even stand on her own feet and move forward. That the slurs and rumors somehow made it worse, that there's a faded pink stain on her locker where someone had painted _freak_. That whatever anxiety she'd had before approaching people had expanded ten-fold when there was only laughter and crude remarks circling her constantly.

That she can't even blink and stay in the same place. That there are holes of times, holes of memories she doesn't think are real even though she wants them to be, even though she doesn't want them to be.

That she doesn't know how to stay vertical anymore.

She feels her knees giving out and leans against him, even though it's the furthest place she wants to be at that moment.

"How lonely is it?" he continues. "When all you have is some world in your head to keep you company?" His heads knead against her side, pull her closer to him. "What do you see down there? Is it better than it is up here?"

 _Nothing. Anything. Everything._

"Do you really want to jump? You can stay with me."

There's a pounding inside her head, her blood roaring in her ears, and she feels her vision clouding over.

"You need me," he says. "We need each other. So just come back down, okay? Come down and we'll forget all this. It doesn't matter anymore."

She pushes against him, sinks down to her knees. And no, she can't stay on her feet, she can't stay vertical, but there is something solid beneath her and she's not willing to let it go.

She looks up to see the panic in his eyes, wide and open even as the rain is splattering down.

"It's okay," he says, his voice still hushed. "Don't worry. It's okay."

She's not going to jump but she's not going to let him work himself into her head either.


	20. Chapter 20 (Finale)

Max wakes up to the trill of a machine next to her. She can feel the heaviness of something against her arm and her eyes snap open in panic. For a moment, she thinks, _this is it, I'm dead. I'm dying._ She remembers blood in her mouth, a ghostly reflection in front of her.

A dream.

A nightmare.

Memories threaded around her, piecing together what she'd left behind. She's not on the roof, nearly two months prior, struggling to free herself from Warren's grasp. The memories of him feel vague and real all at once, like the smell of rain within a fog. As if all the memories and dreams she'd had for the past few weeks have built into this.

She's not on the ground near the laundromat either, pain rippling through her as she struggles to hold onto her consciousness.

There is a wall of white around her instead. A heart monitor and IV pole next to her. A trail of tubes fastened to her body. A blanket like lead across her legs. A crackle of sound outside the open door. Passersby on a mission and without a second glance towards her.

Except the one that walks through the door.

"How are you feeling, Max?" a doctor asks, file in hand and eyes glued to the notes before him.

It all feels so eerily familiar that the panic settles deeper. "Am I back?" she asks, quickly turning to scan the room again. Her mom stirs in the chair across from her, stretching as if she'd fallen asleep.

 _In the same hospital? Before the alley? Before the roof?_

Her head is throbbing dully, but a flash of pain grabs at her stomach as well. She groans, falling back into the bed.

"Hey, take it easy," her mom says softly. Her hand is cool against her forehead. "You've been through a lot."

Max peers down at her stomach, the thick gauze wrapped nearly up to her chest. There's another bandage wrapped around her head. A distinct crack echoes in her head as she remembers connecting with the brick wall, Warren looming in front of her. "What is this?"

"It's just there to protect the stitches," her mom replies.

"You've had quite the incident," the doctor informs her.

"Incident?" Max repeats and she leans forward slowly, examining the doctor's face. The word brings back more fractured memories—school corridors that seem to lead to Arcadia Bay, a never-ending circle of laughter and camera flashes, a roof whose ledge she can't seem to escape. It brings back the first doctor, all those weeks ago, who had tossed the word around as if it were a bumper to something more fragile.

But while the room is familiar, it's not the same.

"Where am I?" Max asks.

The doctor smiles tightly. "I'm Doctor Freeman. You're in my ward today, Max. Do you remember what happened?"

"No," she answers and peers down at her stomach again. "What ward is this?"

"Trauma," he replies and glances down at the chart in his hand. "You've been in and out of consciousness for a few days, which is understandable, given the nature of your injury and the psychological effects, I imagine."

Max frowns up at him. "What exactly are you implying?"

"What do you remember?" He slowly lowers the chart, studying her with a gaze that seems to dissect her. For one brief moment, it reminds her of—

"Warren," she responds, immediately, but it's all she can piece together as her memories stream past again, like bursts of lightning, too quickly to catch, too quickly to voice. His hands against her. Always behind her. The bones in the junkyard. The knife at her throat.

 _I love you._

 _You were mine._

She grinds her teeth as she pushes aside the words.

"Do you remember anything else? Do you remember what you'd said earlier?"

She again grasps at the memories flashing by, but they remain images instead of words. They feel caught in her throat. "What did I say earlier?"

She doesn't even remember coming to the hospital. But she remembers the flash of red and blue in the alley. Voices calling out. Warren heavy and slumped against her. No time travel. She glances at the IV taped onto her hand, the only other thing running through her veins besides blood.

The doctor glances down at the file again and her mother clears her throat to fill the silence.

Max's eyes dart to her mother then around the room again. It feels remarkably empty with the three of them. "Where's Dad?"

"Getting something from the cafeteria." Vanessa's hand squeezes Max's gently.

"Don't you fucking touch me," someone yells from outside the door. Dr. Freeman frowns as he examines the commotion outside.

"I'm sorry, sir," someone says, just outside the door. "He just barreled past us and—"

"Go ahead and call security. Just see what happens. See what the fuck happens."

Max smiles slightly at the familiar voice. She waves to grab the doctor's attention but lifting her arm sends another burst of pain through her.

Her mom pats it back down. "What's going on?" She leans down to Max's level, whispering.

"Tell him he can come in. It's just Nathan."

"Oh," Vanessa says, raising an eyebrow as the voices grow louder outside. " _Oh."_ And Max can almost see it click into place in her mind. "Your friend from therapy?" she clarifies. There's a lilt when she says _friend,_ as if she's picked up on what Max has been hiding for weeks.

"Doctor Freeman to the reception area, please," a voice crackles from over the intercom.

The doctor casts an exasperated glance at the intercom and at the crowd in the doorway. "We'll continue this later, shall we?" he says to Max before squeezing past the commotion. The door clicks shut firmly behind him.

Max hesitates, waiting for the worry to crinkle at her eyes, for the lecture.

But Vanessa smiles thinly, nodding. "Oh, your dad will love this."

"Mom," Max begins, but Vanessa shakes her head, her smile still at her lips.

"I was a teenager once. I know the drill." She leans forward, brushing a kiss to her forehead. "You know, it's good to see you with friends again. To see you not…wasting away." She rises back to her feet, smiling as she glances towards the door. "And Nathan. He's definitely interesting, I have to say."

Max winces, trying to recall all the times her mother had seen him. The times where he'd grumpily bid her goodbye at group. The times where he'd dropped her off after school, ranting about photography club. When they'd teamed up to search for her when she'd gotten lost at the party. The times where she'd bent over a smiling Max, phone in hand while she texted him, asking who could pull a smile like that from her while she tried to bury the phone beneath her hands.

"Yeah," Max says with a quirk of a smile, "he's kind of great."

"Nathan," someone calls with a flash of comradery from beside the door. The yelling's dulled down to a muffled grumble. "Lovely to have you grace us with your presence again. How's the arm healing?"

"Fuck all of you," Nathan retorts. "This chick's the one that locked me out of here last time. I dare you to do it again."

Vanessa heads towards the door, turning towards Max with a tight smile. "You know this isn't going to work if we don't trust each other. That means communication, okay?"

There's something heavy beneath her gaze that makes Max swallow thickly. "Yeah," she says, "of course."

"I completely understand," the voice outside is saying. "And let me tell you something, sometimes asking nicely reaps more rewards than demanding."

"Fuck your bullshit, Alex," Nathan says. "I just want to see Max."

"And I think that can be arranged."

"She said family only…" Nathan's voice trails off as a murmur of other voices debate something.

Vanessa opens the door, leaning against the doorway as she shoots a pleading look with the nurse by the door. "He's been here for days. Let him have five minutes?"

Then, Nathan pushes past the door and the retreating nurses. He's limping and a bandage crisscrosses one arm. Something in his expression softens when he catches sight of Max and he kicks the door closed with his good leg.

"You're awake," he says, his voice hoarse, and he clears his throat.

"You're alive," she counters and bites back a smile.

His own smile is hesitant and he approaches her, hands flitting around him as he tries to figure out where to place them. He eyes the bandage around her head as if it's alive and reaching for him.

She grabs hold of his good arm and pulls him to her, wrapping him in a rough embrace that makes them both wince. She closes her eyes and falls into the steady cadence of his breathing, nothing stuttering or broken.

"Well, yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" He squirms as he tries to escape from her arms.

"I thought you died," she whispers. "I thought I died." Her own throat feels raw and when she falls back against the bed, she flinches at the new rush of pain.

Max's mom clears her throat and Nathan's face flushes as if he just realized she was there.

"Sorry," he grunts.

"This is Nathan," Max says, as if the introduction is needed. There's something jarring about having them stand beside each other, as if looping some part of her world with another.

"I know," Vanessa replies and a small smile is at her lips. "We've had some time to catch up."

He squirms again and Max nudges him with her knuckles. "What do you mean, 'catch up?'"

"Uh," he says, his eyes darting between Max and her mother. "Yeah." Max nudges him again and he glares at her, eyes wide. "Look, you know I hate it here," he drags out. "I wasn't going to wait by the fu—stupid phone."

Vanessa seems to bite back her smile as she nods and rises to her feet. "I'll go check on your father," she adds. She's out the door before either can protest, the door shutting quietly behind her.

Max stares after her and Nathan clears his throat, fidgeting beside her again.

"You talked to my mom?" she asks, still not able to form the picture in her mind.

"And your dad. And everybody in the whole fucking reception area, apparently. Why the fuck does everybody have to get all emotional and buddy-buddy when they're crammed in a waiting room? I don't give a shit about Great Aunt Iris's goldfish collection. I don't care how many pizzas someone's going to order when their kid's finally out. It's not going to change anything." He cuts himself off, grunting as he looks away.

"It makes the waiting easier," Max says softly. She remembers the time when her dad had gone in for open-heart surgery, how the hours had seemed to expand exponentially. "It gives you something else to think about."

"You almost died," he says, his voice as quiet as hers. He tugs at the bandage on his arm. "When I tried to grab that fucker's knife, he lashed out at you instead. There was so much—" His words cut off into a small strangling sound.

Her gaze flicks back to him. "What happened?"

His eyes grow wide again as he takes in her question. "You don't remember?"

"I remember," she says, her eyes falling to the blanket in her lap. "But I need someone else to say it." _I need to know it was real._

"You got him pretty good. But not before he got you first…" He trails off, falling onto the end of the bed. "I thought he was gonna be dead before the cops got there because all I saw was red."

"Is he here? Is he…" _Is he dead?_

"Oh, he's here." Nathan smiles, but it's more of a grimace, completely devoid of humor. "Not for long though. Pretty sure he'll wish he was when they figure out what the fuck's going on."

"What's going on," she repeats. Her head feels as if it's entangled with threads. She leans forward, resting her head against the coolness of the bed railing.

"I'm sorry," Nathan says. His knee bounces between them. "He went after you because of me. I shouldn't have let you walk by yourself."

She scoffs, peering up at him through the railing. "You didn't answer my question. Not really."

"I almost didn't see you," he says, locking eyes with her. "I forgot my lens back at school and headed back to get it."

"And…" Her breath stills inside her chest.

"And he had you pinned to a wall." He screws his eyes shut. "With a fucking knife."

She shudders and presses her own eyes closed against the railing.

"He's done it before, hasn't he?" he asks slowly.

The memories flash past her again, strings fluttering past that she reaches to connect. Two years. For two years she'd buried them, created others, and buried them again.

She almost doesn't answer, just presses closer to the railing. "Not like that," she finally says.

She hears him sigh and rustle beside her. "Fuck."

"What," she pauses to lick her lips, "what did I say? When I got here? What did I tell them?"

He leans back against the bed, his head just barely brushing against her feet. "Someone buried in the junkyard. That Graham did it. Probably had help."

She licks her lips again. She can feel them trembling against her tongue. "What did they find?"

"Someone buried," he replies. "It was pretty fucked up."

"Fucked up how?"

He hesitates and she nudges him with her foot so that he looks up at her.

"I need to know, Nathan."

"She was in pieces," he says softly.

"Was it Sam? The girl he followed before?"

"Seems that way. They just started investigating."

She lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding, feels her lips tremble even more.

"You think it was Jefferson," he says, like an afterthought. His eyes dart between hers, knotting his brow as he studies her. "You knew Graham was helping him, didn't you?"

"I didn't know that I knew." She's pressed her face so tightly to the railing that she can feel it digging into her skin.

"It's not going to happen again," Nathan says as his fingers reach slowly towards hers. "Not anymore."

She jerks away from his touch and he recoils, frowning down at his hand. He twines them through the railing instead. His gaze travels back to hers, wary.

She tears her face away from the railing and glances out the window— at the leaves already stripped from the trees outside, at the calendar that's open to mid-September beside her, at Nathan slouching in a white letterman jacket. She frowns, remembering it black, red, blue. But the white somehow seems more familiar than the others, like stumbling upon a picture she hasn't remembered in years.

"It wasn't real," she says slowly and reaches one hesitant finger towards his jacket. "It's never been real."

"No," he says, watching as she runs her fingers over his sleeve. "It wasn't." He clears his throat. "Your weird ass friend is downstairs. I passed her on the way up. She's probably out there with your mom."

"We are her family," a muffled voice yells from the other side of the door.

"Or not," Max says with a twitch of a smile.

"Chloe, let me—"

Max can hear Joyce shout and her smile grows slowly.

"That's my cue," Nathan says, glancing towards the door.

"Stay." Max grabs hold of his sleeve, tugging it lightly. "Please."

He shrugs and eases slowly back next to her.

Chloe opens the door and peers around the corner, her arm still in a sling. "Hey," she whispers and the dramatic change in volume makes Max laugh.

She winces and bites down another laugh when both Nathan and Chloe's eyes grow theatrically large with concern. "I'm fine," she assures them.

Chloe smacks her leg softly. "What the fuck did you do?" she asks with a hint of a smirk.

Max sighs and readjusts herself in the bed. "I thought I'd fuck myself up so I'd have nothing to do this fall."

"Well, stop it." The smile falls from Chloe's face. "That asshole's lucky he's holed up here because I would have fucking finished him. I'm still not sure I won't."

Max can feel Nathan shift from beside her but he doesn't make to leave.

"You know, this one," Chloe nods at him, "has been here every day you've been here. Pacing the waiting room. Keeping the receptionist on her toes. Terrorizing children."

Nathan stiffens and glares up at her. "Shut up."

"And then he bitched at me when I wouldn't bring him coffee. Would you bring him coffee? He's, like, the last person who needs coffee, especially if I'm going to be in the same room as him for several hours."

Max tries to readjust herself and winces again. "You stayed here, too?"

"How else am I going to make sure you go home in one piece?" Chloe says. "I'm not like you. I have to see these things with my own eyes. Visual evidence, dude. Even if I have to suffer with your weirdo boyfriend."

Max freezes at the term but Nathan doesn't seem fazed. The corner of his lip twitches as he shoots out a quick, "Fuck you."

Chloe smirks in reply.

"Knock it off, guys," Max says. "Thanks, though. Seriously." She smiles between them both.

"I don't think you can get rid of me that easily. Not this time," Chloe responds.

Nathan grunts but looks flushed as he looks away.

* * *

Max winces as she makes her way out of the restroom. It'll take her only ten steps to make it back to her bed. The pain doesn't stab at her stomach as much as it did the day before. Her head only feels tender now, like something electric is poking at the back of it.

But it's not her bed where she wants to go.

She pulls the IV and monitors free. The door is already cracked open and she peers through. The hallway isn't too crowded and no one pays attention to her as she slips out. She's not exactly being stealthy but she isn't venturing too far either.

She knows he's on her floor. It's just a matter of which room.

She leans against the wall for support as she peeks inside each room. Some of the doors are closed and she passes those; she can circle back later, if needed.

But she doesn't need to.

His door is open and she's assuming the officer grumbling at the vending machine at the end of the hall is there for him. She slips in before he can turn around and notice her.

Warren stares back at her wide-eyed. A myriad of bruises is dark against his face and his nose looks broken. "What are you doing here?" he whispers and even his voice sounds broken. "You can't be here." He sits up slowly, wincing, and she wants to shove him back down, make him look away from her.

"How many?" Her voice sounds small, even compared to his.

"I didn't kill anyone." His answer is automatic, like she's pressed a button that he's replayed a hundred times already.

"How many lives did you mess up? How many people are buried somewhere because of you?"

His eyes grow dark but he doesn't answer. His lips are a thin line, unmoving.

"You realize these are people you're messing with, right? People living and breathing like you? That have families and lives, and how the fuck could you do that?" Her voice cracks at the last question and she clears her throat.

"You don't know anything," he says, and she thinks he almost sounds offended.

Her eyes rove the room, looking for something she can throw at him, to make him shout, to say something that isn't a blanket statement. But the room is remarkably empty, save for the IV and heart monitor. She wishes she could yank those free and let them topple onto him, but she doesn't want to take another step closer to him.

She lets the silence build for a moment, lets it sit inside her chest before breathing again. "You took advantage of me." The words sound louder than she'd intended, but she doesn't bother to lower her voice. "You fucked with my head, manipulated me, tried to fucking abduct me at knife-point. You were my only friend and you used it against me."

He sighs and beckons her over, but she doesn't move. She stares forward, focusing on the few strands of hair that have fallen over his eyes. She can't look directly into them.

"I was trying to protect you," he says.

"From _what?_ "

She catches his resolve slip, furrowed in his brows before he winces in pain. "From being hurt. From hurting yourself."

She shakes her head slowly. "You're such a fucking liar. Is that what you told Sam? Or did she ever put up with your bullshit?"

He leans forward, trying to push through another wince as he glares at her. "She brought it on herself."

"What? Did she push you away one too many times and oops, your knife slipped?"

"I left her alone after she punched me in the face," he snaps. "She's the one who followed me back—" He stops and smiles slowly. "I didn't kill her."

"But you didn't stop him."

"Stop who?" His smile grows wider. "Stop what?"

She leans against the door, the pain finally working through her. She's yet to be on her feet for this long, but she refuses to sit down or head back yet.

His eyes follow her movement and settle around her midsection. "You could have just come with me," he says softly. His smile has disappeared. "And it wouldn't have happened."

"So you could chop me into pieces, too?" She bites down on the words.

He studies her for a moment, shaking his head. "I wasn't going to hurt you."

She glares at him wordlessly.

"Any more than I already did," he amends. "We were supposed to be together."

She pushes away from the door and jabs a finger in his direction. "You're fucking delusional. I hope you know you're getting what's coming to you."

"Really? You think you have any credibility?" He smiles faintly again. "Show them your journal. I'm sure that'll tell them everything."

"You think Jefferson won't rat you out?" she counters. "You think he'll take all the blame? He'll find some way to try to pin it on you."

His smile slowly fades again. She sees the panic flash in his eyes before he looks away.

"Excuse me," a loud voice shouts into the doorway. "He's not allowed visitors."

Max freezes and looks over at the police officer now frowning at her with a cup of coffee in hand. "I was just leaving." She shoots a glare in Warren's direction. "Good fucking luck," she tells him before limping out of the room.

There's a nurse standing by her door with her arms crossed. Another stares Max down as she rushes from the other side of the hallway.

"—not in the psych ward. I checked all the rooms. Nathan's looking again, just in case she's slipped down there after I left," someone is saying to the nurse at the other end of the hall. He turns around as he hears Max approaches. "Ah, there she is." His eyes crinkle as he smiles. Alex, his name hits her suddenly. She remembers him as the nurse who'd helped her the first time she was admitted.

"I was just a few doors down," she says, jabbing a thumb behind her. She tries to ignore the flush on her cheeks. She'd hoped she could have earned a few more minutes of freedom before causing a commotion.

Alex's eyes flick towards her indicated direction. The police officer is still watching her, his own face darkening at the attention. "I hope he enjoys his coffee. Probably the last coffee break he'll get for a while," Alex mutters, frowning.

The elevator dings and Nathan steps out, his hair tousled as if he's been trying to pull it out. His eyes immediately hook onto Max and he marches over. "Where the fuck were you?" he asks and then follows Alex's gaze to the officer across the hall. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"I had to," Max says and pushes past everyone to head back inside her room.

"You didn't try to talk to him." Nathan follows her, pulling a chair out of the way so she can climb back into the bed.

She sighs as soon as her back hits the mattress. "I did talk to him. The officer was getting coffee and didn't see me."

"You—" Nathan runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up even higher. "Do you know how dangerous that was?"

"I was right by the door. Trust me, he wasn't any faster than me. He wouldn't have been able to do anything."

"Max."

"I had to," she repeats, catching hold of his gaze. "This is real, Nathan. It's always been real."

Nathan falls silent, then sighs and collapses into the chair he'd pulled out. "Okay," he says. "Okay." He reaches his hand out towards her, but doesn't touch her. Instead, he leaves it palm up.

After a moment, she takes it, lacing her fingers through. It isn't until she feels the stillness of his hand that she realizes her own is trembling. "Chloe thinks you're my boyfriend," she says lightly, trying to steady her hand.

His lips quirk into a small smile. "So do your folks."

"No," she groans and forces out a small laugh. "I'm sorry."

He shrugs. "It's just a fucking label. Doesn't change anything."

"I—what?" She quickly drops his hand.

His expression looks guarded as he meets her eyes. "Doesn't have to change anything," he continues.

"Yeah," she says, nodding slowly. "I guess it doesn't, really."

He leans back in his chair, lacing his arms behind his head. "Then, that's that."

She smiles before letting her head fall back against the pillow. "Absolutely," she says.

 _Boyfriend._

The word circles in her head until it barely seems a word any longer. Only her fingers are trembling now and she curls them into a fist, feeling her pulse thrum between her fingers.

 _This is real._

 _I am real._

She lets the words circle in her head until they barely seem words any longer.

* * *

Max is packing the rest of her things into her bag, trying to free the hem of her jacket from the zipper, when she hears someone clearing their throat. She freezes, dropping the bag, and flicking her gaze towards the door.

"I, um, heard you were being discharged," Victoria says. She's holding a vase of sunflowers and tips them towards her. "This is…well, this is from everyone at the photography club."

Max glances down at the vase and back towards her bag. "I haven't been in photography club for two years," she says flatly.

"Look," Victoria snaps, then clears her throat and looks away. "I know you've been through a bunch of crap and we wanted to pitch in and help."

Max stuffs a pair of socks that have fallen out back into her bag. "Don't let me be your charity project for the year. I'm sure you could better spend your time elsewhere."

Victoria sighs and sets the vase on the table nearby. "Nathan wanted me to talk to you," she says and glances over at a chair, as if she's debating on whether to sit or not.

"Right," Max says, steeling her spine as she closes her bag. Nathan hadn't mentioned anything about Victoria and now she's wondering what exactly is going to enfold before her.

"We talked about a lot," Victoria continues. She crosses one foot over the other, staring at the wall across from her now. "We've known each other for a long time, Max. Much longer than you've been around. You're only another bump in the history between us."

"Gee, thanks," Max says. She sits down on the bed, folding her arms over her chest, being careful to avoid the bandage still wrapped around her midsection.

She remembers what Nathan had told her the first time they'd driven to the park, the photos from his glove-box falling into her hands.

 _And then there's you, who doesn't give a rat's ass about anyone or anything and she gets this idea that you think you're better than her._

With bruises littered across her body, a line of stitches across her torso, moving as slowly as the pain meds will let her, she wonders how anyone could think that.

"The point," Victoria adds, louder, "is that you didn't deserve it." She scowls at the wall. "What that creep did," she amends, when Max is about to speak. "Or, you know, any of it."

Max thinks of her laptop sinking in the fountain, the flash of Victoria's camera as she stumbled through the crowded party. She thinks of her insults rattling off like bullets whenever she was in range. "You mean, like what you did?" She smiles bitterly. "Or does that exclude your majesty, club president?"

"I shouldn't have," Victoria drags out. "It didn't mean anything. It wasn't supposed to. I'm sorry." She sighs. "You were always better than this. You know that, right? You didn't need that pathetic little nerd to tell you that. You walked past everyone, and it was like you didn't care about anything. I just wanted to knock you down a few pegs."

"It doesn't make it right," Max insists. Part of her wants to throw the vase at her, to yell all the things Victoria had been hurling at her for years. But when Victoria catches her eyes for a moment, she can see the apology there, hesitant and afraid. It strikes her how scarcely she's seen it on Warren, how, even vulnerable in a hospital bed, the only thing he seemed to fear was his own outcome. No remorse. Never remorse.

She sees herself reflected in Victoria's eyes— sitting too tall, a frown to scorn the world, anger ready to spill at her lips. She's already spilled enough.

"It doesn't mean you have control over anyone else's life," she continues, her voice softer. "Just because it's easy for you to find friends, to draw a crowd, to get what you want, it doesn't give you the power to try to destroy their lives."

Victoria scoffs. "It's not easy."

"It isn't for me, either," Max retorts. "It's never been. It's been a nightmare ever since I started school."

Victoria sighs again, glancing down at the table beside her. "Ex-president," she finally says. "I stepped down this year." She sniffs at the sunflowers and rearranges them so that the sunlight from the window can reach them better. "Sunflowers are disgusting."

"Yeah," Max says, deciding not to remind her that it doesn't matter where she places them as she's about to leave.

"I'm sorry," Victoria says, still staring down at the sunflowers. "I should have gotten you something different. The florist said sunflowers were friendly and brightening and…well, it's a hospital. It's got to be depressing here."

Max smiles thinly.

"I'll see you around at school," Victoria says, when she's fiddled with the flowers long enough that some of them are drooping. The sound of her shoes on the floor echo softly behind her.

"Where did these come from?" Max's dad asks when he gathers the discharge papers from the nurse. He gestures towards the sunflowers.

"Girl from school," Max replies. She tries to grab her bag but Ryan slips the strap over his shoulder before she can.

He takes the vase, too, whistling as he takes in the intricate details etched upon it. "That's quite a gift," he notes. "Did she rob a funeral home?"

"Well, if she did, she wasn't too optimistic about my leaving, then."

Ryan cracks a smile and shakes his head. "I'd have made sure to gift the vase back, then. On the condition that you forever haunt her, of course."

"Nah," Max says. "I'd be too busy exploring my newfound ghostly powers."

"As long as you still visit your old dad."

"Done deal," she says and slips him a high five as he shuffles the vase to his other hand.

* * *

"So, the trial was last week. Did you want to talk about it?"

Max's journal sits open on the desk between her and Dr. White. Dr. White flips the page, tapping her desk with her pen as Max considers the question.

"Which part?" Max asks.

"Any of it."

Max fiddles with the bobble-headed cat in her hands, watching the eyes tick back and forth as she turns it. She thinks of the clock in Jefferson's garage that she's seen many afternoons, many weekends, the cat's eyes that flick from side to side with each second. The door that probably lead to the basement, probably under the dusty rug beneath a set of shelves. She hadn't seen the door, but she'd seen the photos of the basement. The line of girls.

"Do you feel safer knowing they're both behind bars now? A sense of relief? Guilt? It's okay to feel confused at times like these, especially when you were close with Warren at one point."

"I don't know," Max admits. "All of it? I feel guilty because I didn't see it before." The cat slips from her fingers and tumbles to the floor. She bends down to retrieve it. "He told me that I needed him. I was such a dumbass."

"No, you weren't, Max. People who manipulate others often do it in search of power. They want to feel in control, depended upon. He wanted you to feel like he was the only one you could trust and so he did whatever he could to achieve that." Dr. White taps her pen against the journal and closes it. "Even if that means lying. Especially if it means lying."

Max sighs slowly. "I know."

"His good attributes don't outweigh the bad ones."

The cat slips from her fingers again. This time she places it back on the desk. The cat nods back at her, easy grin on its face. "All those girls," she whispers, remembering the photos, the binders, the details unwinding during the trial. A line of girls dating back to before she was even born. Sliced through, stitched together. Their skin taught and shiny like wax as they were propped and posed. Human taxidermy projects.

She can't imagine Warren's hands pulling their organs free, filling them with chemicals, stitching them together. Even as he had. Her stomach lurches and she fumbles for the trashcan near the desk, nearly missing it.

"Better?" Dr. White asks.

Max nods slightly.

"How are the dreams?" Dr. White continues when she rests back against her chair and her breathing has settled.

Max glances down at the journal still between them. "Better now that I can make sense of them," she says. She thinks corpses will haunt her for a dozen more years, but at least they stay corpses.

"They'll taper off, eventually. Dreams are how the mind works through trauma," Dr. White says.

"I know," Max says, and her stomach lurches again as she recalls Warren reminding her nearly a month ago.

"And look how much you've worked through already," Dr. White continues. "I'm proud of you, kiddo. I'm sure your parents and friends are as well."

Max thinks of Chloe and how, a year ago, she wouldn't have been able to say that. She thinks of how Chloe had driven up to visit her the other day, how they'd piled up underneath a blanket fort and eaten the cookies they'd burnt that night. How they'd gone over to Kate's to help her rearrange her room. Boxes of Warren's stuff were set by the garbage cans outside.

Max smiles and picks up the journal, thumbing at the pages before dropping it back into her bag. "Still a long way to go, though."

"Everything takes time."

Max slings her bag over her shoulder as she rises to leave. Nathan's already waiting outside, spinning his keys around his finger.

"Ready?" he asks, nodding at Dr. White as she waves. "I think I found it. It's not as good as the last place, but supposedly there's a milkshake that tastes like chocolate cupcakes."

Max wrinkles her nose as she follows him to the truck. "Don't you think that's a little much?"

"What?" He gapes at her before opening his door. " _Chocolate cupcakes,_ Max. Like, the king of desserts."

"More like the king of stomach aches. Dad's grilling ribs tonight. You sure you don't want to come over?"

"I fucking hate ribs," he says, scratching absently at his arm.

"Doesn't have to be ribs," she says with a shrug.

"Maybe later. I'm still getting a milkshake."

She laughs and rolls her eyes. "Of course you are."

* * *

She doesn't even pause to wrap the leftover ribs that night. She holds the Ziploc bag between her palms, smiling as her dad catches sight of her.

"Saving them for the squirrels?" he asks as he places the last of the plates into the dishwasher.

"Well, one squirrel," she replies.

"Don't stay out too late," he reminds her. "Ten o'clock on the nose. Or I'm driving around with the airhorn to scare off the predators."

Max winces with a laugh. "Don't worry. No one's ears will need to be damaged."

"I don't know. Those are good ribs."

She tries to ignore the tightness at the corners of his eyes as she smiles. "Ten o'clock," she assures him.

 _Here._

The text flashes like a beacon and Max hurries past. Her mother's already in bed, the light in their window on to let her know she's still awake.

"Here," she says, dropping the ribs into Nathan's lap. "Feed it to the squirrels if you don't want it. We made too many."

He blinks down at the bag and lets out a short laugh before tossing it behind him. "I hate ribs," he reminds her.

"Well, give it here and I'll toss it to the squirrels then."

"Pretty sure squirrels don't eat ribs." He doesn't move to retrieve them.

"Mutant squirrels, maybe."

"Let me know if you see one, then."

The road they take is a familiar one, blending out from the suburbs and towards the abandoned warehouse. The mural is still there, tall and looming, a myriad of animals that from afar looks like a butterfly. They tread through carefully, kicking aside debris.

"They'll tear it down one day," Nathan says.

"Maybe," she says, stepping over a piece of crumbling floor. "And then we'll find someplace else."

"Sure," he says. His fingers inch towards hers before entwining them.

She leans towards him to kiss him and he pauses as she meets him. Neither of them pull away.

When she could rewind, there was always a moment just before time rushed past, the moment where it caught in her fingers, still but pulsing, a live portrait in her grasp. She can feel it in this kiss, right before time rushes past, not backwards, but forwards—seconds dowsed in the slow tug of his lips. The moment enfolding between them.

A drop of rain falls on her arm and she shakes it away. The sky is heavy with clouds waiting to break loose.

"Let's head back?" he mumbles against her lips, pulling away to pull his keys free from his pocket.

"Yeah, in a second," she says. She leans against the doorway, the wood creaking behind her. Long ago, it held a door, but now there's nothing but wood, warped and swollen from the forgotten years. She runs her fingers over the beam beside her, avoiding the splinters splitting upwards. Then, she pushes away, catching another drop of rain as she heads towards the truck and climbs in. The door shuts behind her.


End file.
